Kindred Blood Saga
by RikiTiki
Summary: New Haven California is a dangerous place filled with monsters that feast on human blood when the sun goes down. This is not a story about those who hunt down the monsters and bring them to their well deserved end, this is the monster's story. Cover image found @
1. The Unfortunate Demise of Stevie Ray

**This is intended to be a reimagining of the entire Kindred the Embraced television show, starting from the beginning and taking a very different overall path. I do not own any of Kindred the Embraced and since I will also be drawing heavily from the Vampire the Masquerade mythology published by White Wolf I wil also say that I don't own any of their ideas either.**

**This is my first post and I will be attempting to update it once a week, any comments, criticisms, critiques would be most apperciated. So without further ado… Kindred Blood Saga.**

The Unfortunate Demise of Stevie Ray

Stevie Ray ran, "Damn, after all these years," the thought was both panic and regret. He glanced back; they were there, all five of them. "Shit!" He glanced down at the gaping hole that the prick with a shotgun had blasted in his side. Stevie Ray grimaced, the wound which had flowed freely only minutes earlier had slowed to a trickle, the blood flowing from him and as it did his strength ebbed away as well. This was bad, he had to make it back to the Prince's manor, if he holed up somewhere before dawn that bastard's ghouls would hunt him down while he was at his most vulnerable. Stevie Ray made a fist and shoved it hard into the wound hoping to buy himself more time. The sky to the east had begun to lighten, sunrise was almost on them. Stevie Ray turned from 1st street into Butler Park, the street lamps still burned maybe he could find a quiet spot to get out of the sun if he could shake these bastards. Benches, trashcans, and picnic tables rushed past him in his peripheral vision, no hiding spots presented themselves, he turned from the path, he was slowing and they were gaining on him. His shoes slipped on the dew slick grass and as he stumbled they were on him. One at each arm, another at each leg, he fought and writhed, but his strength had leaked out with the blood. The four at his limbs lifted him onto a picnic table while the fifth, the smug looking little bastard that had shot him pulled a long stake from his too trendy overcoat.

Stevie Ray struggled to the last instant when the punk sunk the stake into his heart, "This is what happens when you meddle in business too big for you," the punk sneered before taking off to find shelter from the rapidly rising sun. Stevie Ray laid on the rough surface of the table, the shard of wood piercing his heart holding him totally immobile. He couldn't move, pity he could still feel, he made a mental note of the face of the one that had staked him, he decided that he would look up the little bastard when the Prince sent him to hell, and maybe pay him back a little of the debt he had wracked up tonight. As the sun rose Stevie Ray felt the little bit of blood that remained in his body begin to heat, and the to boil, his mind screamed it's agony as his whole body burst into flame and did not quiet again until death swept over him.

The five pursuers of Stevie Ray all sought shelter in a nearby building and called their boss. A car with blacked out windows met them on the bottom floor of the buildings parking garage. Fighting sun coma they all piled in to the car, a large figure sat on the seat facing them, his broad face and muscled form was unmistakable.

"He's dead." It was less of a question than a command.

"Yes, Sir a real crispy critter."

"Well done Marcus, well done boys. The car will drop us off at my Haven, where we'll discuss what to tell the Prince after sundown. Marcus, you are sure no one saw you?"

"Of course, Sir, not a soul up this ungodly hour." Marcus's reply was sluggish and apathetic, he was young and the sun coma was strong, the large figure smiled at their feebleness then relaxed, tomorrow night would be a test for him, and he intended to be well rested to meet the challenge.


	2. Sunlight and Ash

It was nine thirty when Detective Frank Cohanik trudged up the hill toward the picnic table and the charred husk that lay on top of it. The corpse was only vaguely definable as humanoid in form. Frank cast his eyes about; they were heavy and bloodshot from lack of sleep. His shift ended at five and he should, by all rights, be nose down in a pillow somewhere snoring contentedly, like his partner Sunny would be at this time. He lifted the barrier of yellow tape that had been stretched around the perimeter of the crime scene to keep the small crowd that had gathered at bay. He saw a young patrol man speaking to one of the unfortunate joggers that had found the body still smoldering earlier that morning.

"Be careful, with that corpse, the fire damage has made it fragile, Davis you just cost us a rib, Andrews see if you are any steadier than Davis, I want as much of this corpse to make it back to the ME as possible! Hey Frank!" The man with the megaphone voice was Sergeant Brighton, he also had a great barrel chest and massive broad shoulders, "thought you were on night shift, where's Sunny?"

"I was just catching up on some paperwork when the call came in; some of the guys were talking about spontaneous human combustion. You know how Sunny likes the weird ones so I thought that I would stop by on my way home and check this one out for him."

"He couldn't come himself?"

"You know Sunny."

Sunny had been Frank's partner for two years now, his real name was Paul Lawson, his nickname was given to him for the same reason people called a six foot seven, three hundred fifty pound titan Tiny. Aside from his aversion to daylight hours he had the least sunny disposition of any person Frank had ever met. His speech was more often than not riddled with profanity, obscenity, and expletive. Frank liked him; he was efficient, hard working, intuitive, and the best person in the world to have at your back when things got hairy.

"Hey are you still seeing that artist? What's her name?"

"Alexandra," Frank said pulling a small velvet box out of his pocket and opening it to show Brighton the contents. Brighton whistled appreciatively.

"I am seeing her tonight actually," Frank grinned, he had been planning tonight for months, largely because the restaurant to which he was taking her required reservation be made three months in advance, which just about gave him time to save up for the cost of the meal. The ring he had not been able to afford, but the lady behind the counter guaranteed that Alexandra would swoon or his money back.

Frank dialed Sunny's number on his cell, it rang six times before a heavy sleep laden voice answered- "The fuck do you want motherfucker?"

"Morning…"Frank began.

"I know what the fuck time it is, why the fuck are you calling me?"

"Sunny, your exquisite command of the English language never ceases to amaze."

"Fuck you, I'm hanging up."

"I was at the station and got a call about some poor bastard burned up on a park bench, the guys said something about spontaneous human combustion, thought it was right up your alley."

There was a long sullen pause before Sunny replied, "Send me pictures."

"I'll make sure that Brighton sends a copy of the case file to your desk."

There was grunt and a click, Frank took the grunt as thanks, and turned back to Brighton.

"What do you know so far?"

"Not much," replied Brighton walking Frank over to stretcher on which the body had been placed. It was in two pieces, the top half and the bottom had separated where a small portion of the spine had apparently been blown away, "it looks like his chest exploded, see how the front of the rib cage is missing along with the lower jaw?"

Frank bent to examine the body, Brighton was right, it looked like the chest had exploded from the inside. The ribs that remained stuck out at odd angles and much of the spine has been reduced to ash. This fire had burned hot, he wondered about the accelerant that had been used. Noticing an incongruous chip in what remained of one of the thoracic vertebrae; Frank asked to see a magnifying glass. No one had one. It took several minutes for a technician of one variety or other to fetch him one. He bent closely over the remains holding his breath, trying to avoid even breathing on the fragile evidence.

"Brighton, hand me the super high def mega pixely camera thingy." Brighton complied laughing to himself over Frank's lack of technical acumen; Frank focused the camera and took a shot.

"How do you get this thing to zoom in?" He asked.

"Like this," the tech that had brought him the camera interjected, seizing it, as though Frank were going to break the delicate instrument, and helped him focus the picture on the spot that had caught Frank's attention.

"See right there, that slight nick in the spine?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I would have to check with the ME but I think that means he was stabbed."

"I really hope it was before he got set on fire, hell of a way to die."

Frank nodded, then, after confirming that Sunny would get a copy of all the reports when he got in that night, Frank took his leave. As he was walking away from the scene he looked down and saw something plastic on the ground. He bent and examined what turned out to be a security badge assigned to Steven Ray Guilford of the Butler Corporation. Frank whistled, the Butler Corporation was headed by Amos Butler, the most powerful property magnate in six counties. Frank called Brighton over to photograph and catalogue the evidence, and then finally made his way back to his car and headed for home;. He needed rest. It was going to be an eventful night.


	3. Cash Forgets His Manners

The sun took on a copper crimson hue as it sank toward the horizon over New Haven California. It reflected off the windows of the cities many high-rises and for a moment before the sun disappeared behind the curve of the earth plunging it into darkness, the city seemed bathed in gold. A top a hill overlooking the city, in the most fashionable and expensive district stood an old Spanish style villa, the wrought iron gates that surrounded the manor were opened at dusk and shortly thereafter the Primogen began to arrive. The heads of the five clans gathered in Conclave at the behest of the master of the manor, the Prince of the city.

The first to arrive was Daedalus, Primogen of the much feared Nosferatu clan. He looked more like Icarus after his fateful fall. His face had a distinctly rodent like appearance, squashed with a nose like a bat's. His fingers were long, knotted and scabbed. His nails were yellow and each one came to a sharp point. His eyes were two black pits that shined wetly. Perhaps as an apology for his grotesque appearance Daedalus had dedicated much of his unlife to the acquisition of great knowledge and culture. He had attained such heights of scholarship and eloquence that it was almost possible to forget that, not beating within his chest was the savage heart of the Nosferatu, though one forgot this at their peril.

The next to arrive was Lily Langtree, of clan Toreador. She sat next to Daedalus at the large oblong mahogany table at which the Prince held Conclave. In ludicrous opposition to the hideous Nosferatu, the exquisite Lily epitomized every quality for which clan Toreador was famed. Her striking beauty was such that one had to take her feature by perfect feature or be lost in the attempted contemplation of the whole. She was brilliant and passionate. Lily kept her fingers firmly pressed to the pulse of culture, anticipating artistic and aesthetic shifts, always seeking out new talent on which to capitalize. She was also wayward, capricious, and entirely ruled by her own irrational, but undeniable passions. Lily would pursue with self destructive zeal whatever sudden mood or capricious whim had taken hold of her, be it a grand cause, a new artist, or a single note change in an entire symphony. Then just as suddenly as it had started she would abandon, with contemptuous disregard, the object of her passion, in favor of some new flight of arbitrary fancy.

There to pull out Lily's chair for her was Archon, the Primogen of clan Ventru, and the Prince's Sire. Kindred society was ruled by its Traditions, and to break one of these Traditions was treated as heresy. One Tradition stated that the eldest vampire in a city have the ruling of it, and indeed Archon had made a bid for Prince almost eighty years previously. His failure to win the loyalty of the Nosferatu had cost him the throne, which had passed, against all propriety to his Childe. Now, Archon sat in council and spoke for the Ventru clan. He was tall and slim and looked to be around the age of twenty. His wavy brown hair was longer then was the style in modern nights, and his still distinctly English accent would not have been thought out of place in Shakespeare's day.

To the surprise of none the last to arrive was Eddie Fiori, Primogen of the Brujah. His was a great hulking form, his lower jaw jutted out in an under bite that gave him the look of a crazed bull dog. He was a great, thickly muscled brute of a vampire. His entire personality could be summed up in one vice. Eddie was a glutton, his endless insatiable appetite for both blood and power were the stuff of morality tales and childhood nightmares. Eddie's clan, the Brujah had a longstanding feud with Stevie Ray's clan, the Gangrel , in this city. Before the Prince had taken the reigns there had been an interclan war that had been going on and off since the gold rush. Eddie, ever petulant, took his seat at the table, and pouted.

At the far end of the table sat the Prince of the city. He was a study in lines and angles, his face looked as though it was carved from alabaster, or blue veined marble. His eyes were a clear translucent gray, and his light blond hair was slicked back from his forehead, revealing a severe widow's peak. He sat silhouetted against the backdrop of the city lights below; his long graceful fingers were steepled in front of his face, his thin pale lips pressed tightly together, his slim angular jaw clenched. Occasionally all eyes, except those of the Prince glanced over at the only remaining empty seat at the table. The chair that had until just last night belonged to Stevie Ray, this was why they had been called to Conclave, to discuss the murder of a clan Primogen and to await the arrival of newly selected Primogen of the Gangrel clan.

Eddie, always antsy when a silence dragged on said, in an accusatory tone, to the table at large, "is anyone going to call this council to order?"

His outburst was met with a resentful silence until Archon spoke, "traditionally we do not open Conclave until the heads of all the clans are present."

"It could take those mangy dogs weeks to choose a new Primogen, I am not waiting around here forever."

"We are all equally inconvenienced Brujah, your childish outbursts, however do not improve the silence," came the even measured tone of Daedalus.

Eddie sneered at the ugly lump of a man sitting next to him, but dared antagonize him no further. The silence was again resumed, broken only by the sound of an antique grandfather clock that sat in one corner of the magnificently appointed space. Bookshelves lined the walls, great heavy curtains of burgundy velvet were drawn back to reveal a massive multi-paned window, which looked down on the city and allowed the Prince to look out over his Domain.

The minutes ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace, until shortly after the clock had struck ten, a knock sounded from the large double doors that stood opposite the Prince's position at the table. A person entreating entrance, all eyes turned first to the Prince, then to the door as he called for the one seeking admitance to enter.

A man in his late fifties entered the room, his hair was salt and pepper, and on him it looked distinguished. He wore a sleek black suit which was perfectly tailored. He looked like the CEO of a massive multibillion dollar company, and he was. He was Amos Butler, and this was, according to every deed on file with the city, and every tax form enshrined in Washington, his house, but to any observer it would have taken no time to see that the master of the house sat at the far end of the long room, and that in his presence Amos was merely a butler indeed.

"With your permission, I will present Ca$h, new Primogen of the Gangrel."

The older man stepped aside to allow a young man to pass. He was young by human standards, but positively infantile by Kindred standards. He was of average height and build, his sandy hair was an unkempt mop atop his head, and his dark lapis blue eyes rapidly scanned the room. The Prince waived a dismissal to the butler, and stood.

"Welcome Ca$h, please step forward and take your oath of fealty."

The young man, dressed in a worn leather jacket and torn jeans moved across the room, his head moving side to side like a wolf stalking prey, taking in his surroundings, all the while making eye contact with none save the Prince, and scrupulously avoiding casting his eyes at the seat occupied by Eddie Fiori. When he reached the Prince he took a knee. The Prince used a sharp knife to draw a small line along the veins of his wrist, he then extended his arm over the upturned face of the new Primogen and allowed several small drops of his blood to drip into Ca$h's open mouth, he then drew back his arm and passed his tongue over the small cut sealing it closed.

"Take your seat," he motioned for Ca$h to take Stevie Ray's abandoned chair. Ca$h stood and walked over to the chair, he fell heavily into it, not realizing before the level of tension he had endured until he felt a slight relaxing of it. He was still young enough that exercises in breathing still had a calming effect, after a few moments of deep inhalation and exhalation, he allowed himself to look into the smug, contemptuous face of Eddie Fiori. Ca$h believed the Stevie Ray had died, if not by Fiori's hand, then on his orders. Stevie Ray had been Ca$h's Sire, and though not every Kindred loved their Sire, Stevie Ray had been like a father to him and he was determined to avenge his death. Ca$h found that he had been glaring at Fiori, and had not been taking in any of the conversation that had been going on around him.

"Paul is looking into the situation, I am putting him in charge of our investigation, I want the killer found, I want him or them brought to me." The Prince's voice was ice, dispassionate, but with the hard edged sharpness of a finely honed blade.

"What do you think happened to my Sire, Eddie?" Ca$h asked acidly.

"Probably, one of his own dogs turned against him. Maybe you did it. I don't weep over what happens to stray dogs," Eddie leaned in taunting Ca$h, "put'em all down I say."

Ca$h's eyes flashed red and he launched himself across the table at Fiori who smiled and seemed to thrill at the occasion to fight. Before Ca$h, near frenzied and snarling, managed to sink teeth or claws into Eddie, Daedalus was on him and Ca$h was airborn, flung end over end until a wall halted his forward motion.

"He violated Elysium! I demand satisfaction," shouted Eddie, thoroughly enjoying the ruckus.

"Why do you demand satisfaction when I am the one wounded?"

The Prince asked which had the effect of deflating Eddie slightly.

"Ca$h you have broken the sanctity of Elysium and dared to attempt violence in my home, you will therefore be expelled from Concalve until you are able to control yourself and be a competent voice for your clan, you will also submit yourself to a fine to be determined by me at a more convenient time, be gone now and return when you are of use to this Conclave."

Ca$h stood, bowed stiffly, and exited the room. When the heavy doors closed behind him he seethed, his rage coming near to a boiling point. He did not frenzy often, but that arrogant, entitled, untouchable air that Eddie put on drove him past his limit. He was sure that Eddie was responsible for Stevie Ray's death; he balled up a fist and punched the stone wall of the corridor outside the Prince's office. He paced back and forth one minute damning Eddie for a killer, the next damning himself for a fool. Ca$h spotted motion from the far end of the corridor. Amos Butler, carrying a manila file folder ran along the passageway, one look told Ca$h that something was terribly wrong. Butler stopped at the sight of Ca$h, performed a perfunctory sort of bow, turned, and banged on the doors.

"Enter."

Butler pushed his way into the room, Ca$h followed a few paces behind.

"Apologies Sir, but there has just been an urgent message from San Bernardino. "

"What is the message?"

"If you will pardon me Sir, it is a private message."

"Then I will hear it after Conclave."

"It is regarding your great grandson."

"What of him?" Asked the Prince.

"He's been murdered."


	4. Eddie Dodges a Bullet

Eddie Dodges a Bullet

Eddie had called his driver to meet him before he had even risen from the table. He kept his head down and stormed out of the room. Eddie always stormed; he found it effective given his size and appearance. He made his way through the Prince's manor. Like the Prince, this home was a study in clean lines and vast planes. The walls mostly bare wear occasionally at unexpected intervals hung with a rich tapestry of intense colors, or accented by the placement of an exquisite statue. Eddie saw a Ming vase that he wanted to hurl against the barren wall. As he entered the foyer he was met by Marcus who helped him into his coat and opened the door for him. They both walked at a rapid pace down the front stairs of the mansion, as they reached the last step a black Lincoln town car with blacked out windows pulled up. Again Marcus opened the door for Eddie who climbed into the backseat.

"Drive." Eddie ordered his driver, and sat back closing his eyes. Part of him wanted to laugh, the other to book a flight out of town as soon as possible. It was just as the old man had said; the Prince's mortal family was dead. Eddie had been assured that the deed could not be traced back to him; the next few nights would tell, still the ball was in play.

"Drink, Sir?" Marcus unstoppered a bottle, and offered him a glass.

"No, I have no taste tonight for that dead stuff, I feel like something more livelily tonight," Eddie smiled, "I think I will hunt tonight."

The city rolled by outside the car, the lights and traffic promised a fairyland of fiendish delights for one of Eddie's tastes. How he loved it, the car swung around Southern and turned onto Main. Main Street was lined with restaurants, clubs, theaters, and **people**.

"Baa," bleated Marcus as he looked at the throng, "where would you care to dine this evening?"

"Lily just opened up her new club, Bank; she is fairly begging us to make a withdrawal."

Eddie did laugh now, Marcus took the evident relaxation of his Sire's tension to ask a question that he would in most circumstances never broach.

"Sir the servants were saying that the Prince's great grandson was killed earlier tonight."

Eddie rolled his eyes, "servants talk too much."

"Is it true?"

"Yes Marcus, it's true."

"Was that one of ours too?"

Eddie stiffened, "Marcus, you are ambitious, and I like that, but if you ever want to do anything with your ambition you need to learn how to shut your mouth. **We** have done nothing. **You** murdered the Gangrel's Primogen. You are the most wanted blood sucker in this city and it is only the warm sheltering shadow of anonymity, and my continued indulgence that stands between you and a Blood Hunt."

Marcus understood, "Yes Sir."

"To hell with your Sirs Marcus, within a year's time I will be Prince of this city, get used to calling me Sire."

"Yes Sire."

The car pulled to a halt in front of Bank, the line was around the block, and this was only Thursday night, Lily must be making a killing at this joint. Eddie thought happily of his future, if he could only live long enough to see it, he would be Prince, and glut himself on all that this glorious city has to offer.


	5. Check Please!

Check Please!

Alexandra leaned lightly on the twentieth floor balcony of the restaurant Sangréal taking in the view of the city. She reflected that in the city the number of visible stars was not diminished, merely relocated to the earth. This was not her first visit to this exclusive restaurant, Lilly, her Sire, owned a company that owned a company that owned a politician that owned the restaurant, so this was where they generally came to discuss business. Fank, however must have booked a long time in advance. She smiled, the sensation of the moonlight and night breeze on her bare skin thrilled her. Alexandra remembered all too well a time when to dress like this would have had her ridden out of town on a rail. All too vividly she recalled stiff, high collars, numerous petticoats, and corsets in hundred degree weather. She also remembered children dying of the pox, red fever and a tuberculosis epidemic. Only those that had never experienced the dread of earlier times could decry the march of progress.

She had worn a low necked loose fitting gown of feather light cloth. It fell in a most flattering manner, hugging the curves of her body in such a way as to leave nothing at all to the imagination. She had been flattered by Frank's autonomic response when he had arrived to pick her up that evening. Frank loved her in red, he said that it brought out the translucent sky blue of her eyes and highlighted the paleness of her skin. Frank loved her in red, actually Frank simply loved her, of this Alexandra was sure, and that thrilled her more than the moonlight or the breeze, or the freedom to wear the color he so admired. They were waiting for a table, despite having booked so early in advance their table had been given to someone of greater importance than detective Frank Cohanic, Alexandra did not mind, but Frank had gone to have words with the maître de. She thought that she loved Frank too, it was not easy for one of her kind and age to love, but she had not felt so human since, well since she had been human. This thought made her smile too, and she thought of a landscape using New Haven as a template that she must start, tomorrow night. Not tonight though, tonight she was with Frank, and that made her smile.

Frank came up behind her while she was still musing and put his arms around her. The warmth of his wonderfully live body was welcome against the cold flesh of her dead one. As he kissed her neck lightly she allowed herself to blush. It was a stupid waste of blood, and she was already quite famished, but it seemed a fitting tribute to his eager attention.

"Not much longer," he said apologetically, "the maître de is an ass. I explained, slowly, using small words that making a reservation means that you reserve a table for your exclusive use. He blinked at me as though I were speaking Greek. "

"It is all right my dear, if it means that I get to look out over the city while you hold me for a while, it seems a hardship I can bear."

She felt him smile now as he tightened his hold on her ever so slightly.

"Madame, Monsieur, your table is ready," came the stuffy voice of the maître de, "would you like to be seated now?"

Frank's weight shifted and his arms fell away as he turned to tell the man that yes they certainly would like to be seated now. She felt the separation of his body from hers as a sadness, and suddenly felt cold. She turned and her hand sought his as they walked through the dining room to their table.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked concern in his eyes, "Your hand is so cold."

"I am quite well, " Frank pulled out her chair and she sat feeling the hunger growing in her, she had been distracted with painting lately and had not fed as regularly as she should, it was becoming rapidly apparent that she would need nourishment before the night was over. Frank sat across from her, how she loved the broad kind face, there was serenity about him, she decided, the serenity of a man who knows who he is and is comfortable with that. She thought of a portrait that she would like to start tomorrow night. The maître de handed them both menus, and smirked slightly when he saw Frank's eyes go wide at the prices.

"If you have any questions your waiter will be by shortly." And with that the snotty little man left them alone. Alexandra spotted a young woman getting up from her seat and head toward the restroom.

"Excuse me for just a moment; I need to go freshen up." She said standing, Frank stood too, and you never saw those kinds of manners these days, and again she smiled. She asked him to get her water if the waiter came by and hurried toward the bathroom, just as a second woman reached the door.

Alexandra put a hand on the woman's arm and in a commanding tone explained that the restroom would be closed for maintenance for the next fifteen minutes. She felt the woman's will fight hers, but feebly and in the end she gave in and slunk off, in the end they all give in she thought as she slipped inside and locked the door. The young woman that she had seen enter earlier was already washing her hands when Alexandra approached her.

"Those are lovely earrings," she said in the same tone that she had used on the other woman, this time there was not resistance, the young woman at a prompting from her leaned her head back, exposing her throat to Alexandra.

"Would you like a closer look?"

Alexandra, was hungrier than she had known, and she took more from the young woman than she would normally have done, she stopped when the girl swooned, then after closing the puncture marks on her throat and reassuring herself that the girl would both live and not remember a thing she unlocked the door and stepped back into the dining room. The girl had had one too many, one of the reasons no doubt that she had offered no resistance to Alexandra's use of Dominate, so Alexandra returned to the table full, warm and just a little tipsy.

Frank had gotten her water and she arrived just in time for the waiter to present a bottle of wine that Frank had ordered for them.

_My, _she thought, _he really is going all out tonight._

"Brighton asked if we could get tickets to your show for him and his wife."

Alexandra had an exhibition coming up next month. It was this first showing dedicated entirely to her work in almost a century, she was ecstatic.

"Of course, dear, I'll talk to Lilly tomorrow."

"Thanks, it means a lot to him. Sheila, his wife, saw a couple of your pieces on display a few months ago and has been raving about the show ever since. He says she keeps throwing around the terms, artistic genius, and wonder for the ages. She's an art teacher at New Haven High, and waxes ecstatic about your work to her students."

"I will see if we can offer tickets to her class as well, I am sure Lilly won't mind it's a write off for her."

"That would be amazing, as soon as you find out let me know and I will pass the news along."

She was overjoyed to see him so happy, and the way the light shimmered off the wine in her glass, must begin a still life tomorrow, she thought, and was nearly done with the composition in her mind when she realized that Frank was still speaking.

"-dra, you are the best person I have ever met in my life, I have never been happier in the company of anyone else," he was fishing around in his pocket, and with sudden horror Alexandra's mind cleared and she realized why he had gone all out this evening, "I can't imagine greater happiness than, "he began to rise, "for you,"

The door to the woman's restroom burst open and a very pale young woman staggered out and collapsed on the floor. Frank looked stricken, but turned toward the fallen girl.

"I am sorry," he said his voice heavy with frustration.

"It's alright," she called to his retreating back, "go be a hero."

As she saw him kneel before the prostrate woman she called their waiter over to her and told him to inform the gentleman helping the young girl into a chair that she had a sudden unavoidable call from her manager and that she would have to cut the evening short. She then took one of the pristine white napkins and placed a lipstick kiss on it, leaving it on Frank's plate, before gathering up her purse and heading for the door.


	6. At the Prince's Behest

At the Prince's Behest

Daedalus rose quickly from the Conclave table and hurried from the room. He did not storm like Eddie, he scurried. He passed the Prince in the hall bent over an open file folder; the Prince looked stricken in a way that Daedalus had never seen. He hurried on past and headed for his Haven. Daedalus lived in a large basement apartment under the Prince's manor. One of the conditions of Nosferatu support to his claim to the throne was that he improve the lot of the small cadre of Nosferatu that called the city home. This he had done, at great personal expense, and from it he and Daedalus had reaped the reward, peace in New Haven. Now that was all like to be shattered.

Daedalus was cataloguing his possessions in his mind, what did he have time to collect? What priceless treasures must he leave behind? Who was mad enough to do this? Daedalus had not even begun to pack when there was a buzz on his intercom. Daedalus closed his eyes, relief; madmen in Frenzy don't use intercoms.

"Yes?"

"Daedalus, I need to speak with you."

It was the Prince's normal flat monotone voice.

_Could he be so far gone as to be unmoved even by this?_ _Surely not._

"You are most welcome Sire," he said as be pressed the button that unlocked his door.

The Prince made his way down the stairs and into the main room of Daedalus' apartment; it was furnished in opulence, but with superb taste. Everywhere there were beautiful things, statuary, paintings and sculpture. In a small alcove there stood an easel where Daedalus would sometimes sit and compose original works of art. A canvas bearing the portrait of a beautiful woman sat completed, but never to be displayed, for as with all of his own works, Daedalus had slashed the painting and bits of canvas now hung mournfully from the frame.

Daedalus offered the Prince a seat in a large over stuffed leather chair, which he accepted, then without preamble the Prince handed Daedalus the folder that he had been looking over earlier. Without a word Daedalus picked it up and began to thumb through its contents. Mainly reports, the photos showed a man in his mid forties with sandy blonde hair sprawled out on the floor of a magnificent kitchen, the man's throat had been torn out and his vacant eyes bulged and his mouth was frozen open in what must have been a cry of terror and pain. Lying beside him was a woman, likely of an age with him though it was difficult to tell as she laid prone, her rich mahogany hair spread out like a dark halo around her head. A youth of seventeen, according to the reports, had, it seemed, come into the kitchen during the attack because mere inches away from his open hand was a fire poker, perhaps the youth had died trying to save his parents. His valiance had cost him his head which was found several feet from the rest of his body. To Daedalus the saddest picture was of the twins, thirteen years old they had left the world as they had come into it, together, Daedalus looked away from that photograph a thick red tear formed at the corner of one of his eyes then rolled sluggishly down his cheek. Despite the gruesome nature of the pictures, the thing that struck Daedalus was the lack of blood on the scene. Horrific as these deaths had been they had also been neat. Daedalus wondered what the Prince had wanted him to glean from this file, and then it struck him.

_Wait!_ He thought, as he quickly counted the dead, Father, Mother, three sons. _Where was the girl?_

"What do you think?"

"I think someone was sending you a message."

"What is the message?" The Prince asked.

"I'm coming for you." Was Daedalus' reply.

"But you see how they failed?"

"Yes, the girl escaped."

"That is why I have come to you, I need you to imbue a letter that I have written with a charm to compel her to do as the letter suggests, namely get on the first available plane to New Haven."

"Do you think that wise Sire? This is the work of an Assamite, when he had learned that he failed he will be back for her."

"She is the last Daedalus."

"How long have you followed them?"

"Near enough to five hundred years as makes no matter. She is the last, I must have her here."

The Price's translucent gray eyes flashed suddenly scarlet, and Daedalus could see the effort he was exerting not to Frenzy, the Beast was so near the surface, clawing at the vampire in front of him, fighting for control. Still the Prince sat still as the statue replica of Rodin's Caryatid that stood only feet away.

"Surely Sire you will see her at the funeral, why not bring her here yourself?"

"Daedalus, I will not risk the first peace that has lasted in this city since the gold rush merely to soothe my aching heart."

Daedalus was horrified by the lie, there was rage in the too soft tones of the Prince's unnaturally calm voice, but there was no pain, Daedalus shuddered internally.

"Very well," Daedalus rose and after several long minutes of preparation he handed the Prince back his letter and instructed him to sign it using his real name, this was the seal for the charm he explained, and it bound the recipient to the sender's will until the terms of the letter had been full filled.

"Thank you Daedalus."

"I am at your service Sire," Daedalus answered, all the while noticing as the Prince's eyes, which had resumed their usual nearly colorless state, flick back and forth to a large steel door at the other end of the room. This door was the kind normally reserved for bank vaults, the kind that required energy on the order of megatons to dent.

"Sire do you intend to visit the wine cellar tonight?"

"I have one more thing to wrap up," the Prince leaned forward and pushed the buzzer on the intercom that was supposed to bring up one of the Butlers.

"At your service Primogen," came the prompt response.

"Amos, has Richard arrived home yet?" The Prince asked, referencing Amos Butlers eldest son. Daedalus had heard the Prince say with the casual assurance of all slave masters throughout history that his servants would never betray him, Richard, like his father before him, he said had drunk from his wrist before sucking at his mother's teat. This did ensure loyalty, but Daedalus was offended by slavery, and that was the essence of the blood bond. It was utter servitude, and at this point emancipation would mean death from the pain of withdrawal for both father and son.

"Yes Sire he arrived home only minutes ago."

"Send him to Daedalus' apartment, I have news for him."

"Yes Sire immediately."

Several minutes passed as they waited, Daedalus, sitting behind his desk began typing at his keyboard. The genius of the internet never ceased to amaze him. After centuries of darkness and solitude he was now connected to the entire world by the mere click of a mouse. How extraordinary, and how it eased the loneliness to connect with the living.

Richard Butler arrived, he was a tall slender young man of twenty eight, he had dark hair, green eyes, and a vapid childlike expression on his otherwise handsome face. He was dressed in Armani slacks an off white silk shirt and grey damask vest. He looked, Daedalus thought, as though he should be going to the prom. The boy bowed to the Prince not noticing Daedalus.

"Richard, I have found you a wife."

"Yes Sir?"

"Her name is Sasha, and she is the last of my living descendants."

"I am honored Sir, when is this to take place?"

"As soon as you can contrive to win her consent, she arrives tomorrow night by plane."

"Shall I pick her up at the airport Sir?"

The slavish look of devotion that hung on the boy's eager face disgusted Daedalus and what was more he could see that it disgusted the Prince as well.

"No I shall have one of us pick her up," the Prince indicated that "us" meant one of the infinitely more powerful undead, rather than this barely weaned pup of a human.

"Yes Sir, thank you sir."

The Prince waived a dismissal and the boy bowed and ran up the stairs taking them two at a time, he had won the favor of his master and was being rewarded.

"If one of my own children ever looked at me the way he does I would tear off his head," said the Prince again assuming his dead monotone. As he said this he held out one of his alabaster hands into which Daedalus placed a small silver key.

_Strange,_ mused Daedalus, _such a small key for such a large door._ Then he returned to the screen before him.

The Prince rose and walked to the massive door and inserted the key into a tiny lock, it turned with ease. He paused for a moment to remove his gray Armani jacket, fold it neatly and throw it over a nearby statue. He undid the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them exposing his blue veined forearms. Then in a massive burst of strength he hauled open the door by hand.

Daedalus tried to ignore the stale odor of musk and sweat the billowed for the open portal, he could not ignore the sound of metal scraping on stone, he looked over for a moment, the Prince, always so neat looked uncharacteristically disheveled. Some of his slicked blond hair had spilled over his face. An obscene smile twisted his usually impassive features. A thin high pitched whining came for somewhere beyond the door. Daedalus closed his eyes as blood suffused the colorless eyes of the Prince, who's pupils now looked like shiny pools of ink against a blood red backdrop, they seemed almost to glow as he turned and stepped into the chamber beyond.

Daedalus walked over to the door and pushed it closed, then returned to the discussion he had been having with a professor in Venezuela about the merits and disadvantages of the Socratic method of argumentation.


	7. Sunny Smiles

Sunny Smiles

Ca$h stood outside arrival gate C22 at New Haven airport in his hands he held a small handwritten "WELCOME SASHA" sign. Paul stood next to him, his dark face drawn into a deep frown, his narrowed black eyes scanning the crowd that filled the terminal despite the lateness of the hour. SECURITY was printed in bright yellow letters across the backs of their jackets, and identification cards hung from their breast pockets, which was what had allowed them to bypass security and arrive armed at the gate. A desert eagle, which had been modified to shoot "dragon's breath" ammunition hung in the shoulder holster at Ca$h's side. Dragon's breath was sulfur tipped bullets that exploded on contact, dealing far greater damage to Kindred than standard ammunition. Ca$h looked over at Paul's face which looked as though it had been chiseled from mahogany, his expression had not changed in the nearly half hour that they had been standing there, his eyes had not stopped scanning teaming mass of people. This, Ca$h thought, was utterly futile, he was sure that the assassin was on the airplane, and privately he hoped the girl had a strong bladder, being sure that if once she disappeared from the public eye she would never be seen again.

"This is not payment for the fine that I must still assess; this is a favor I am asking of you."

The Prince had said this while standing stock still behind his desk. It was the night after Conclave and Ca$h had responded to the summons that he had received with trepidation. He was afraid of the Prince, this he put down, not to cowardice, but to a sense of self preservation and good judgment. He had heard stories about the Prince's anger when it was aroused, and he prepared himself to apologize most profusely. He had been surprised by his relatively genial reception.

He had been shown by a Butler to the Prince's office, the scene of his previous night's transgression. He had been ushered in with a great deal of haste and directed to sit in a chair that sat opposite the Prince who was bent over a stack of papers on his desk. Ca$h took the seat and waited silently. Minutes ticked by and Ca$h's mind had begun to drift when the door behind him opened again with a bang as Paul Lawson strode into the room. Paul was an impressive figure, muscles bulged and rippled beneath his ebon skin, his face arranged in a permanent scowl, his head weaved from side to side giving the impression that he was always on the hunt. It was enough to unsettle Ca$h. Paul walked to the Prince's side and stood silently waiting to be acknowledged, a cluster of files gripped between his massive arm and chest.

Finally the Prince sat back in his chair, "Ca$h, your Sire, Stevie Ray, was head of my security detail."

"Yes Sire."

"He has helped me through many dangerous times, and I had learned to trust his instincts."

Ca$h was confused, but he was also not being flayed for breaking the rule of Elysium, which dictated that no violence could be done within the designated territorial area, so he merely nodded and listened.

"Relate to Paul and me any information that you think relevant to the investigation into your Sire's death."

Ca$h recounted his final conversation with Stevie Ray.

"He was convinced that there was a plot to over throw you Sire," Ca$h said, and quailed slightly under the colorless gaze and stony features of the Prince.

"Mother Fucker didn't say shit to me, or anybody else." Growled Paul.

"He told me that he needed to be sure before he made his accusation, he was investigating that night, which was why he was alone."

Ca$h closed his eyes, he hated himself for having allowed Stevie Ray to go on a dangerous stake out without him, without his even knowing where to find his Sire if anything went wrong. How wrong it had gone.

"Fuck, I have tossed his place, no notes, no papers, not even a goddamned computer."

"He wasn't much into computers, and less into note taking. He was superstitious about committing anything to a page that might not be true. He only learned to write three years ago, and it was something he was really proud of, but writing still seemed like magic to him."

"So we must assume that he found the evidence he sought," said the Prince icily, "and was discovered before he could report his findings."

"Sire, Fiori."

"I don't believe that Eddie Fiori was human even before his Embrace. He is a greedy child, certainly he has designs on my position, but I have no evidence of his active conspiracy, nor of the violation of any of the Traditions. Stevie Ray was wise enough to keep silent about his suspicions until he had proof; I advise that you do likewise."

"Yes Sire," Ca$h had never much liked being lectured, balled out he could take, but this was becoming grating, he wished that the Prince would get to his point and allow Ca$h to leave. Ca$h had responded to the summons before he had fed, and a clawing insistent hunger had begun to prickle at the edge of his mind.

"I would like to offer you Stevie Ray's position in my household."

This was abrupt, and entirely unexpected.

"The Gangrel have always proved faithful to this administration, and Stevie Ray mentioned that he was grooming you for the position someday, do you feel yourself sufficient to the job."

Ca$h had not considered this, "Yeah, he has been training me," he shrugged, Ca$h had been fully prepared to lose a hand in penance for his disregard of the Traditions; he was not prepared for a job offer.

"Do you accept the position?"

Ca$h found his voice, relieved he said with less confidence than he felt, "Yes Sire."

Just as the previous night Ca$h was made to kneel before the Prince and accept a few more droplets of blood from his wrist, strengthening the fledgling Blood Bond that had begun the night before. Ca$h felt his mind change, he knew that loyalty and adoration for the man standing before him was being forced into his being, he felt a little like a marionette with one set of strings binding him to the puppeteer's will and the other set having snapped allowing him still some freedom of action.

"I have a favor that I would like to ask of you."

The Prince had begun, then had gone on to explain that a young woman, Sasha DeLeon, would be arriving at two this morning, and that the Prince would consider it a service if Ca$h would accompany Paul to escort her to the manor. He had explained the circumstances of her family's murder and that an Assamite assassin was likely following her, and that, this he stressed with a passion and vehemence that Ca$h had never witnessed or imagined possible in the cool countenance of his sovereign, no harm must befall her.

Ca$h had agreed with an eagerness to please born of the newly reinforced blood bond. So that was why he stood in the airport terminal at half past two in the morning waiting for the damned plane to arrive. The first thing that they had done when they arrived was to take possession of a beautifully restored 1952 Triumph TRW motorcycle in black with what looked like the original saddlebags still slung over the sides. Ca$h had whistled appreciatively, though he had ridden shotgun in one of the Butler's BMW sedans he normally rode a 1936 Indian sport scout. This piece of machinery was a thing of beauty, and it had been expertly restored. The plan was for Sasha to ride in car which had been outfitted with bullet proof windows, heavy tinting and a roll cage, while Ca$h rode behind them on her bike. He was starting to like security detail when the plane finally arrived.

Ca$h held up the sign he had made, Paul thought that it was ridiculous, they were there to stop the girl from being murdered, they were not a welcome wagon. Ca$h had argued that the girl had been through a lot and that this might make her feel a little more comfortable, Ca$h was still young enough for such things to make sense to him. Paul did not stop him, but left the younger Kindred in no doubt as to his opinion of the matter.

People began pouring from the gate, Ca$h instantly noticed a young woman with a small elfin face drawn by what might have been grief, her overlarge brown eyes cast nervously about. She had a great mass of auburn hair that, Ca$h noticed, flashed fire red or deep gold as she moved under the fluorescent lights. She chewed her lower lip absently, on the whole Ca$h was struck by the impression of someone bearing a too great weight, but managing to not collapse.

Her eyes went from the sign, then into his, she managed a small smile and walked over to them.

"My Uncle said in his letter that he would send a security detail to pick me up."

"Consider us an honor guard, "said Ca$h sweeping into a ridiculous bow. He was feeling suddenly gallant, he had liked her smile, and some almost forgotten part of him wanted to see it again. He was rewarded for his efforts, as she smiled.

He extended his hand, "Ca$h head of security for the Butler Corporation, and half of your esteemed escort tonight, stone face over here," he said pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Paul, "is Sunny, on account of his disposition."

"Shut the fuck up, we need to go, like an hour ago, come the fuck on!"

The dispersing crowd had made Paul nervous, Ca$h could tell, but he could also tell that this girl was pulled tighter than a guitar string, and that she could snap at any provocation. Gently, thought Ca$h, gently was how she had to be handled. He swept his arm to the side saying, "after you my lady."

She managed an abbreviated curtsy and preceded him down the hallway following signs directing them to baggage claim. Paul walked in front of them, Ca$h slightly behind, but close enough so that he could talk with Sasha. They talked about light subjects mostly, but inevitably the conversation turned to why she was in New Haven, and why she had to have two armed security guards escort her through the airport.

"I understand," said Ca$h, feeling a surge of sympathetic rage and grief, "my father was killed the same night your family was lost."

She looked stricken, her eyes seemed over large in her small face, "Do you think that the same people that killed you father murdered mine?"

"Yes," he replied, "your uncle has many enemies, I am afraid that they may have struck out at you, trying to get to him."

"What will he do, do you think?" She asked, there was an electric eagerness in her voice that shot through Ca$h.

"He will find them," Ca$h said with utter certainty.

"And then what?" She asked.

"I do not envy them the remainder of their lives; your uncle has a famous temper. I would not cross him."

"Good," there was a steel edge of satisfaction in her tone that made Ca$h think of one of his clan mates on the verge of frenzy, "thank you Ca$h."

Her voice was suddenly so sad that part of Ca$h's cold heart warmed.

They arrived at baggage claim and Paul lifted her three bags with ease.

"I'll go get the car," he said gruffly, "you wait here."

"But, my bike." Cried Sasha.

"It's okay, it is in the parking garage, and I am going to ride it back to the manor."

"The hell you are," her eyes flashed with indignation, "that bike is my baby and she-"

Ca$h interrupted her, "you can't ride your bike back to the manor; we have an armored car waiting for you."

"I understand that, but there is a trick to getting her to start up."

"Can't you just explain it to me?" He asked.

"I really need to show you."

"Goddamn, fuck!" Came Paul's inevitable expletive, "Let the broad show you how to turn on the fuckin' motorcycle we don't have time to sit around here and argue all fuckin' night!"

That settled it, when they got to the parking garage Paul went with the bags to the car while Ca$h and Sasha went over to a row of parking spaces reserved for motorcycles. Her bike was at the far end sandwiched between a Harley and a Kawasaki crotch rocket. Sasha went to the saddle bags and began rummaging around for something when Ca$h noticed a car moving too slowly past them, the tinted windows made it impossible to see into the cabin. As it began to pass them the passenger side window rolled down slightly and the barrel of a gun was stuck out.

Ca$h dove, the air was rent with the clamorous bang of the shot. Ca$h careened into Sasha knocking her to the ground. Without thought or heed to the sudden pain in this rib cage he stood, summoning strength from the blood now coursing through his veins he laid a hold of the Kawasaki and hurled it twenty feet where it crashed full length into the passenger side of the car. The driver then attempted to speed away, and instead managed only to limp off at a slowly increasing pace. The sliver BMW driven by Paul pulled up moments later.

"Go after them!" he shouted pointing at the car as it now began to speed away, "I've got the girl! Get the Assamite."

Paul nodded and put petal to metal, giving chase. Ca$h looked down, and then with a grimace rearranged the bits of himself that were supposed to be internal so that they were held in place. Sasha was right where he had left her, covered in blood. He dragged her to her feet, a quick inspection reassured him that, with the exception of a few scrapes on the palms of her hands all of the blood was his, but the girl was in total shock. Ca$h thanked his lucky stars that the girl wasn't a screamer. He pulled the keys to her bike out of the pocket of his jacket before pulling off the jacket and tying it tightly around his waist. He needed to staunch the flow of blood and keep his organs in place, they may have been vestigial, but he had grown accustomed to them in his long acquaintance with them and saw no need to part with them unnecessarily.

Ca$h pulled the bike out of line, stuck the key in the ignition and turned. Nothing happened. The squeal of brakes and the sound of tires sliding over pavement made him realize that they did not have time for him to figure out the trick to this bike. He stood and took hold of Sasha's shoulders, the girl was catatonic. He had never really learned how to impose his will upon mortals, the few times that he had tried usually ended in the mortal flipping him off before walking away, but he had improved slightly with practice.

"You have to drive us." He said locking eyes with her, this woke her from her stupor just enough to see the shredded remnants of Ca$h's midriff.

"Hospital." She said, a rush of engines and the sudden appearance of headlights in the distance pushed Ca$h to greater effort. He sat the girl on the bike and climbed on behind her.

"I will tell you where to go," it was a testament to how shattered the poor girl was that her mind put up no resistance. The head lights were coming closer.

"Start the engine," he said, his voice straining with the effort of forcing her stupefied body into action. He saw her move aside the ignition key revealing a second hidden ignition switch. Hell of a way to make sure that this classic didn't get stolen. She revved the engine and they took off just as Ca$h saw the outline of a black car with a smashed passenger side being pursued by a silver BMW bearing down on them.

They shot off into the night air; Sasha drove with the reckless abandon only possible to great drivers as their less able and overly ambitious counterparts did not tend to survive long. Ca$h clung to her as they weaved through the streets, he called directions to her, but mostly he just pushed her mind into compliance. Now that they were on the bike, and in the free night air he met some resistance to his subversion of her will, but not enough to slow them. They had left the car in the dust. Ca$h hoped that Paul would catch the fucker, and that if he did, that he would survive the encounter.

They raced through the streets, Ca$h pressed to Sasha, his grip on her will becoming looser every moment as a rhythmic thudding rushing sound in his ears grew louder. He could not expend the effort to heal himself, all his mind was bent on getting them to the manor, and but for the steady lub, rush, dub, rush he could have stayed focused. He realized that it was the beating of her heart and the rush of blood through her veins that were distracting him.

He held on tighter, both to her body and his own sense of himself. As they rode, unbidden he felt the sharp prick of fangs against his tongue. As his hunger grew his willpower began slipping along with his control over Sasha's mind. He began to panic, what if he frenzied right here on the bike, he would tear the girl apart. He pushed this thought to the back of his mind, they were nearly there. So close, he thought, just hold on a little longer.

He felt relief wash over him as they passed the gates, but this relief was short lived as the last of his control over her mind melted away and the bike came to a sudden halt. Ca$h could not regain control, and threw himself off the bike in an attempt to reduce the temptation of her blood by putting distance between them. He stumbled and fell backward, his willpower and most of his strength were spent.

"Ca$h!"

The girl had called his name, then to his horror, she was kneeling beside him, and he was looking up at the subtle pulsing of the veins in her throat.

"No." he protested feebly as she bent and pulled his head into her lap, he was vaguely aware that she was crying, and then the world went red. He launched himself at her throat. His teeth never found purchase on the soft flesh of her neck as he was seized by a flash of gray and pulled snarling and biting from the warm relief to be found in her blood. He was carried back by the flash until he was slammed against a tree. A grip like a steel vice pinned him to the trunk, and had he not been in full hunger frenzy at this point he would have seen the red eyes and bared fangs of the Prince of the city.

The next thing of which he was aware was the flesh of a wrist being pressed to his mouth and the ecstatic gush of life as it rushed down his throat. This was no Kindred blood that flowed into him, this was live human blood, slowly the raging beast that held sway over Ca$h began to subside and his vision resolved enough to see the Prince walk over to the now hysterical Sasha and pass his hand over her eyes. Even from this distance Ca$h could feel the power as the Prince said "Shhh," to the girl, who fell instantly into unconsciousness. Now merely feeding for the pleasure of it Ca$h watched as the Prince lifted the limp body of Sasha and carried her into the manor.

Ca$h felt his wounds begin to mend themselves. When he was quite recovered he released his donor, which turned out to be one of the gardeners, who swooned when Ca$h finally released him from his grip. Not knowing what else to do Ca$h made his way through the manor unaided and entered the Prince's office; taking the chair offered him earlier he slumped into it and waited.

It was not long before the Prince entered the room. Ca$h, distinctly disheveled and blood stained rose and bowed. The Prince's eyes were again colorless, and he walked with a controlled grace to his desk.

"Thank you for returning my granddaughter to me safely."

"I apologize, for…" Ca$h trailed off, how did you apologize for nearly turning the one you were supposed to be protecting into a meal?

"Think nothing of it, she will recover, in fact she will not even remember the events of tonight. Where is Paul?"

"The last time I saw him he was tearing off after the one that attacked us."

Ca$h described the events of the night to the impassive face of his Prince. He got up to their arrival when the door to the office burst open. Paul stood, the right half of his face was clawed, and torn flesh fell in shreds from exposed bone. His right eye was missing, and great slashes crisscrossed his body. Over his shoulder was slung a limp slim body which was even in comparison with him distinctly the worse for wear.

"Got the fucker." Announced Paul triumphantly, the first smile Ca$h had ever seen stretched across the man's ruined face.


	8. Howdy Stranger

Howdy Stranger

It had been a long and frustrating night, the only highlight of which was that the restaurant had comped their meal on account of him being a big goddamned hero. He had gone in the ambulance with Beth the young woman that had collapsed outside the bathroom. She was dreadfully pale and kept trying to pass out.

"Beth sweetie, stay with me. Talk to me," Frank had said in the gentle high pitched tones that people use to sooth children.

"Who are you?" She had asked, her voice seeming to come through fog from far away.

"I'm Frank baby girl; remember we met tonight at the restaurant."

Beth smiled faintly saying, "You're a nice man."

"And you have such pretty eyes," he had said, "keep them open so I can see them."

"Just for you Frank, just for you," she managed dreamily before her pulse crashed and her head rolled back in a dead faint. Several tense seconds passed while the EMTs, in Frank's opinion, did some very heroic stuff, which resulted in Beth's chest beginning to rise and fall steadily again as her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him.

Frank smiled broadly down at her, it was a calm reassuring smile, "welcome back baby girl, it is great to see those eyes."

When they arrived at the hospital Frank stayed on to satisfy himself that the girl would make it through. In between hitting redial, trying to get a hold of Alexandra, and shaking hands with and hugging members of Beth's family time passed. The doctors did a series of tests on the girl which revealed that she was anemic to the point of death, and needed a transfusion. Frank, being of the universal donor O positive blood type rolled up his sleeve and aided in the restoration of Beth to health for a second time that night. Frank was overjoyed when the girl's doctor emerged from her room announcing to the waiting family members and Frank that Beth had stabilized, and that they had confidence in a full recovery. Another round of hugs and handshakes was called for and dually observed. Beth's mother took down Frank's address promising him a card every Christmas for the rest of his life. He smiled and hugged the woman, then stopped in on the sleeping Beth, who looked much less pale already. He kissed her on the forehead then stumbled out into the bright light of the near midday sun. He could not have been more pleased for Beth and her family, but his aborted proposal sat in his mouth just like the ring still sat in his pocket, he wished that Beth had waited until Alexandra had answered him before needing rescuing.

He called a cab that took him back to the restaurant, which is where he found out that at Sangreal heroes eat free, just the once. Despite having called Alexandra a dozen times the night before he did not even reach for the redial button, it was after sunrise. Alexandra had explained to him when they had first started dating, two years ago, that daylight was for the creation of art. Had he been insecure he might have feared that his almost proposal the night before had spooked her and that she was now avoiding him, but this thought never crossed his mind, if inspiration struck, he would sometimes not see or speak to her for weeks on end.

When Frank had met Alexandra she had just escaped a fairly disastrous relationship with an asshole that had decided to win an argument they were having with a baseball bat, the oaf had managed to miss her but had spun out of control and fallen out his seventeenth story apartment's huge bay window. She had been cold and distant, but there was something in the way she looked at him that he had found intriguing. He could not name the reason to himself, but she had fascinated him, so he had continued the pursuit. As time passed the distance between them closed until now he was not totally sure where she ended and he began. He loved her unreservedly, but the night that he realized that she loved him too, the night he had decided to marry her; he had woken to see her sitting naked on the edge of his bed, her whole attention focused on the sketch she had just begun. Frank had never seen Alexandra draw before. He lay there for sometime admiring the pleasant curves of her form silhouetted against the light of the lamp she had turned on to draw by. He loved to watch the graceful, skillful way her hand moved across the page. The smile that painted her lovely face was beatific, it was the first time he had seen her fully exposed. This was what she was, as her hand swept across the page he was seeing her for the first time, and his heart felt as though it might burst within his chest. After a short time he shifted slightly to see what she was drawing, it was a sketch of him stretched out on the bed. The Frank on the page could hardly have been him, the face for example was gentle in repose, the worry lines that he had worn since he was a teenager enhanced rather than detracted from his looks, his hair which while lying there had stuck out at all angles made him look young and carefree, rather than unkempt and disheveled. He realized quickly that this was not him as he was, but as she saw him. The figure she had sketched was of a kind and gentle man that she loved, and that thought made him wish, more than anything else in the world, more than his childhood's desire to be Sherlock Holmes, to be the man that she saw when she sketched him that night.

"That is much more beautiful than me," he had said with a smile. Alexandra had jumped nearly dropping the sketch.

"No," she had said, "this is you, Frank, when I was young I had this landscape of beautiful things in my head. I saw it all the time and I could show it to people through my paintings, and sculpture. I used to paint just so my eyes could see what my mind imagined. Then something happened to me," she trailed off for a second lost in the pain of a memory she did not wish to recall, Frank sat up and put his arm around her, "I don't want to talk about it, but this thing that happened, it made the beautiful things go away. Sometimes, over the years I have had moments where pale imitations of what I used to see have flitted through my mind, but it was gone Frank all of the beautiful things had gone, I felt lost, I was blind, stumbling around my own head. Then I met you, and for the first time in years Frank," she lifted the sketch for him to see, the sharp cleanliness of the lines, the contours she created with light and shadow mesmerized him, "I can see again. The landscape was not gone; I was merely blind to it. There is something about you Frank that opened that eye again, and for that, Frank, to see like I used to again, I would have given anything."

She had thrown her arms around him then, her mouth had sought his, and they had tumbled back onto the bed. He had never doubted her affection from that moment to this, and though he longed to seek her out, to hold her and offer her the ring in his pocket as a token of his equal adoration, he knew that to interrupt her while working was not the way to profess his undying love. So he went home. It was well past midday when he fell exhausted into bed and well past the time when his alarm started blaring at him that he actually managed to drag himself out of it again. He checked his phone, no return call; he would simply have to wait. A shower and cup of ridiculously strong coffee revived him somewhat so that he appeared nearly human when he arrived at the office.

Sunny's desk was vacant, but piled on top were the case files Brighton had promised to deliver. Sergeant Pendick stopped by to tell Frank that Sunny had called in sick that night. Frank looked at the sallow, sour little man, and put down his repulsive disposition to having to go through life with a name like Pendick.

"Thanks, maybe I'll stop by his place later and bring him soup."

Pendick did an awkward shrug and shuffled off, Frank returned to his desk after swiping the files from Sunny's. Sunny never called in sick, he was healthy and strong as an ox, so Frank thought that he might take a look at the files and see if he could make any headway before Sunny got back.

There was a note from Brighton written on a post it note on top of the file:

_Lawson,_

_This case just gets weirder and weirder. Check out the ME's report its wild. Still can't get in touch with Steven Ray Guilford, though if it weren't for the report he would look good to be the victim. I don't know man; maybe you can make sense out of it._

_Brighton_

Frank opened the file to the page signed Barney McCourt, County Medical Examiner. According to the report no accelerant was used to ignite the body, that the fire had originated in the left chest and had spread from there, that the bones were no less than a hundred years old, and that this was most likely the result of a sick prank by teenagers who thought it was kewl to dig up some corpse from a local cemetery and burn it, probably for some ridiculous ritual they saw on the MTV or something. Barney McCourt, hell thought Frank; he might as well be Barney Fife, the quack. Frank looked at the pictures taken at the morgue; the body that he had seen on the park bench had not weathered being transported to the good doctor's office well. None of the ribs had survived, nor had any of the cervical or thoracic spine. The sex had to be determined by pelvis shape, and the age of the bones had been ascertained by taking a sample from the one remaining femur. Most of the upper teeth had made it, though even this was strange, the canines were missing, they seemed to have fallen out when muscle attachments, that oughtn't exist, which were holding them in place, burned away. The medical examiner had gone to great pains to illustrate the numerous impossible features present on this body. Great red arrows were sprinkled liberally over the photographs, notes in bold and in all capital letters seemed to illustrate the man's desperation and perplexity as he had conducted his examination.

"Who the hell was this guy? What the hell was this guy?"

"Some unfortunate no doubt," came an unexpected reply.

Frank looked up to see a short broad man with pale skin, sandy blonde hair, and electric blue eyes. The man was dressed in a jacket and slacks which were both worn with age. A brown stain which had obviously been subject to repeated washings still darkened the collar of his off white shirt.

"I am sorry I didn't hear you come up," Frank stood to introduce himself, "Detective-"

The man cut him off "Frank Cohanic, yes Paul has mentioned you."

"Oh, you know Sunny."

"Yes we're family."

"Adopted?"

The man looked at him as though he had said something odd before saying, "Yes."

"Unfortunately Sunny called in sick tonight, you could call him, I'm sure he's at home."

Frank found that his voice had risen in pitch and that he was talking much faster than normal. This man disturbed him, he realized, frightened him even. There was something wrong in the cold blue eyes, something unclean in his bearing and demeanor.

"Then I shall call on him there, it was nice meeting you Detective," the man extended his hand to Frank, who putting down the urge to shudder and run, grasped the man's cold hand in a handshake. The man turned and walked away, Frank collapsed into his chair and wiped the thin layer of sweat that had broken out on his forehead. He realized that his heart was racing, and he breathed deeply trying to slow its rapid beats.

_What the hell was that_, he thought completely bewildered.

"Frank man, you look like you've seen a ghost." One of the young blue clad officers said looking concerned.

"George I feel a little like I did."

"You need some coffee or something?"

Frank coughed and the feeling passed, "No, thanks though George."

"Man you need a vacation, take your girlfriend somewhere where they serve pina coladas and you can dance in the rain or something."

"George, you are not wrong."

George walked off and Frank returned his attention to the files on his desk, he felt composed again, but couldn't really remember what had flustered him so badly. Had it been the photo's of the corpse that had disturbed him? Couldn't be, he was so used to such images that he was able to stay objective, he shook his head, it had been a long couple of nights.

He continued to thumb through the files, but he was distracted, unfocussed.

"Steven Ray Guilford, 27, not over a hundred," he mused to himself, "If you aren't the victim, maybe you are our perp."

He searched the data base for Guilford.

"One arrest for assault, some whack job had takes a swipe at your boss, Amos Butler, you laid the guy out with a single punch, broke his jaw, all charges dropped. No other arrests, no driver's license, concealed carry permit. Where are you Steven Ray Guilford?"

"Frank," Pendick's high pitched whine cut across his scattered thoughts "you are needed downtown at a crime scene."

"Yes Sir, what's the address?"

Pendick told him, and Frank got ready to head out, he noticed that the crime scene was mere blocks away from the address of record for Steven Ray Guilford. Since all efforts to contact him had failed Frank decided that he would pay a visit to the man's house on his way back from the scene.


	9. The Wolf in the Wine Cellar

_Author's note: Apologies for the delay in this posting this chapter kicked my ass._

The Wolf in the Wine Cellar

Ashur Verhulst lay asleep on the concrete floor. He was dreaming again, his mind filled with the scents of earth and air, the feel of the breeze coming off the coast, and the ever present tidal pull of the moon, which moved the seas and moved the wild within him. In his dreams he tracked game with his pack mates, his brother Rudy the great shaggy black one at the head of the group, his head bent low, his long loping stride making nothing of the miles they travelled. Ashur smaller and gray kept pace behind him, baying loudly to alert their brothers behind that the chase was on, even in his weakened state he felt his chest swell at remembered sounds of their answering cursed himself for slipping again and again into the pleasant world of dreams. He ought to be awake, planning his escape , but his fatigue was so great and his situation so hopeless that he all too often found himself slipping into dreams to assuage his dispare. The silver chains that bound him to the wall by wrists and throat still burned the skin around them raw and red. Puncture marks dotted his arms, his throat and his inner thighs. Some had healed into scars, others were too fresh to have even scabbed over yet. These marks were reminders of the Dead One's visits to slake his thirst.

The world turned suddenly red behind his closed eyelids as someone switched on a light. His brain panicked, as his eyes flew open, the bright light blinding him momentarily. Ashur blinked several times trying to clear his sleep blurred and light blinded vision. Slowly the world around him began to take shape again. The cold concrete wall felt solid and rough against the bare skin of his back where the dead one had clawed him the other night.

Cold fear flooded his body. Not again. Never this soon, Asher thought.

The fear rising in him, he looked around at the other two cells, twins of the one that held him. Each one had a set of silver chains with manacles bolted firmly into the walls, a small metal privy, hand sink, drain midway between the wall and the steel bars which enclosed the small space. Past the bars were rows upon rows of dark wooden floor to ceiling wine racks each one containing several hundred bottles, the contents of which had been forcibly extracted from his body and the bodies of the brothers that had fallen to the fiend before Ashur's time. Involuntarily Ashur threw himself into the darkest corner of his cell as he heard the door to the cellar open, his body convulsed in spasms of fear as he tried to still his now gasping breath.

He heard a great deal of scuffling and stumbling about, The Dead One did not stumble, he was silent and graceful, the ultimate predator.

"Fucking maze down here, where the fuck am I going?"

The voice was unfamiliar, deep and resonant, but slightly slurred.

"Turn left at the third row of shelves," replied the all too familiar voice of The Dead One.

There was a thud and the crash of breaking glass.

"Fuck! You try navigating with one fucking eye."

"Do you want me to take her?"

It was a third voice also unknown to Ashur, this one was higher and seemed younger than the others.

"Fuck you, Ca$h just get ahead of me so I don't bang into shit again."

A sandy haired, leather jacket clad vampire came around the nearest shelf. He held a small silver key in his hand with a thin silver chain hanging from it. Ashur's nose crinkled in disgust, he hated the smell of these dead things. Ca$h, as the deep voiced one had called him, was looking behind, presumably to guide the deep voiced one. He turned around and caught sight of Ashur, who was trying to make himself smaller and less noticeable in the far corner of his cell. Ca$h stopped, looking shocked and confused.

"Who are you?" the young dead one queried.

"Who the fuck cares? Get that fucking door open before I rip you open."

The deep voiced one came into view, he was massive, muscles rippled and bulged beneath mahogany skin as he moved. His face was a ruin of torn flesh, the flap of skin over the empty socket of one eye hung limp. The slurr in his voice was explained by a cut that split his lower lip. His shirt was torn in several places as was the flesh beneath it, across one shoulder was slung the limp body of a woman, slim and slight of build, olive skinned with jet black hair. As the big man passed, Ashur saw that the woman was in worse shape than the man was. Bits of sinew, muscle and a length of her esophagushung hung where her throat used to be. Bone protruded from wounds at odd angles, giving the impression that she had gotten on the wrong side of a rabid wolverine..

"Jesus Sunny I'm working on it." Said Ca$h opening the door to the cell opposite Ashur's. The big man pushed passed him as soon as the door was open and dropped his burden on the floor.

The Dead One now came around the corner, his cold colorless eyes searched out Ashur cringing in his cell, and Ashur thought he caught the slight hint of a smile on that now immobile face. When last he had seen it, rage and hunger had contorted the sharp angles of those features. Now there was a calm assurance of power and control that emanated from The Dead One's form.

Ashur watched as Ca$h bent to fasten the manacles around the woman's wrists.

"Sometime," Ca$h said uncomfortably to The Dead One, "you are going to have to explain to me who he is," Ca$h pointed at Ashur, "and why the hell you have a place like this under your house."

The last lock in place , Ca$h stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. It seemed to Asher that the young dead one felt the need to cleanse himself of this place and his contact with it.

"Would you two shut the fuck up? Where the hell is that twisted little fuck with my drink?"

Sunny leaned against the wall for support; he had reached the end of his strength and was slipping into unconsciousness.

"I am here Mr. Lawson," answered a familiar voice, The Kennel Master, as Ashur thought of him. He was a hideous creature, but he had never been cruel to Ashur save in that he would neither set him free, nor leave him to die. The Kennel Master handed a cup to the one called Sunny. The hulking man upended the cup and drained its contents in one long swallow. Even as he did this, the rents and gashes in his flesh began to knit themselves back together. When he lowered the cup a thin red line painted his upper lip, which he cleaned off with a swipe of his forearm, had the man been the breathing sort, Ashur was sure, that he would have let out a great sigh of relief. To Ashur's utter astonishment the man fished around in his pocket, withdrawing what looked like an eyeball, which he proceeded to wipe clean of lint before fitting it back into the socket from which it had, presumably, been torn. Ashur watched fascinated as Sunny blinked several times until the replaced eye began moving in tandem again with the other as sight returned.

"Feeling better Mr. Lawson?" Inquired the Kennel Master in his soothing baritone.

"Feeling prettier than you again Sewer Rat."

"Superb, so shall we wake her?" Asked the Kennel Master indicating the still unmoving form of the woman, the Ashur's great relief he realized that he would not be the focus of the visit this night.

"So that's an Assamite?" Ca$h said with an appropriate measure of awe in his voice. The Assamites were legends. Kindred who killed Kindred for blood and gold, they were nearly perfect assassins, nearly, as evidenced by the twin failures of this one to kill her target and to evade capture.

Ashur watched as Ca$h opened his wrist and allowed a small stream of blood to fall into the Assamite's mouth. It was an insubstantial sum, not enough to restore her to power, but enough to revive her and heal herself well enough to answer the questions that the The Dead One began asking.

"Assamite, what is your name?"

No response. She looked up at him, her face passive, but Ashur could see the hate and fear behind her stare.

"Very well, I don't care," The Dead One said, "I do however wish to know who your master is, and this I will know, for this you will tell me."

"If you do anything to me, they will come for you next," was her response, Ashur thought this a most imprudent way of handling The Dead One whose passion when aroused knew no bounds, and had no limits, he might almost have felt sorry for her had he not in his deepest heart hated all of her kind.

"That remains to be seen, but is at the moment quite beside the point, you were telling me the name of the Elder Assamite from whom you receive your orders."

The Dead One's voice did not break its monotone throughout all that followed, the Assamite, still and quiet at first, then desperate and pleading at the last broke.

"Abdul Amir Aadil Aaftab."

The Dead One rose, "Daedalus, see if you can contact this Aaftab. Ca$h you are excused, head home for the day and recover from your wounds, you carry my gratitude with you for the safe return of Sasha, we will meet again tomorrow night to discuss your instatement as the head of security for the Butler Company."

"Yes Sire," Ca$h looked bewildered and a little horrified by what he had witnessed tonight, and he made haste to beat feet out of there. Ashur had relaxed slightly, partly because it seemed that he was not going to suffer the Dead One's attention that night, and partially because he was now so exhausted from the level of tension that he had maintained throughout the interrogation that he lacked the physical strength to maintain a state of terror. His head drooped with fatigue and from a distant place he heard the world of dreams and respite calling to him.

In a surprisingly short period of time the Kennel Master returned carrying with him a lap top computer which he set up on the floor of the cell containing the Assamite, The Dead One and sullen Sunny who looked bored. When he opened the lid, Ashur could see the swarthy angular features and almond eyes of a middle aged man, his black eyes and hair seemed to shimmer across the screen. Aftab was fighting sleep with an impressive measure of success, even though the lids of his eyes would occasionally close for long seconds before he was able to wrench them open again.

"Well done Daedalus," said The Dead One before he turned to the man on the screen, "apologies for interrupting your sleep Elder, I am Price of the City of New Haven and one of your charges has been apprehended making an attempt to fulfill a contract you accepted within my Domain."

There were several moments of delay before Aftab responded, his English smooth though thick with a lilting accent.

"Has this charge been destroyed Honorable Prince?"

"Certainly not Elder, but of her I am loathe to speak at the moment for I am very much wroth with her, she has delayed our speech over long, and I fear that the sun shall soon be up here as it is there, so I must be brief in my request that you cancel this contract and cease any further attempts on the life of my granddaughter."

"Good Sire, you are far too kind to one of such unworthiness as my protégé."

"It was not for her sake that I have left her alive, it was a gesture of good will between us that we may speak without multiplying the grievances that already lay between us."

"Alas I do not see how such grievances may be expunged, I have contracted to see your family destroyed, how can I, with honor renege on such a pledge?"

"You could give me the name of your patron so that I might be able to persuade them an alternate course of action. For this I would be willing to pay a fee for your efforts on my behalf."

With this statement, Ashur saw the eyes of the Prince flash scarlet momentarily before again resuming their natural colorless hue.

"Again alas, but such information is not mine to give, if however your object is the cancellation of this contract, it is possible that we could come to terms on such an arrangement."

"I would be much obliged, I have vast resources at my disposal, name your figure and currency and it shall be yours."

"Good Sire, we were not promised gold for payment of this contract but a pint of Elder blood from a Kindred of decidedly low generation. As rare and wonderful a prize as any could hope."

"Would not a pint of blood from my veins, or the veins of my Sire pay the debt owed to a sufficiency?"

"Thrice alas, for it will not."

"Pray Sire, not much longer than a minute for the sun is high here and the effort of this conversation is most taxing."

At this point Sunny Interrupted the conversation, he had been fighting sleep for quite some time, the sun was up and while no ray of it made its way into the dank cellar Ashur knew that Sunny felt the effects of its power just as Ashur felt that of the moon.

"I think I can offer a solution, if you," he indicated The Dead One and the Kennel Master, "would excuse us for five minutes."

The Dead One looked surprised but capitulated without argument, the Kennel Master turned to follow without comment.

Ashur listened with curiosity to Sunny's proposition, and wondered how the man was able to strike such a bargain without consulting the Elder whose blood he offered up to the man half way around the world. When their conversation was complete Sunny called for The Dead One to return.

"Great Prince, if your man is able to deliver what he has promised I assure you that no further attempts shall be made on you r granddaughter's life by an Assamite for as long as she lives."

"My thanks Elder, a package will go out to you tomorrow night."

The man on the computer made a slight bow before asking, "What of my errant protégé?"

"She shall be returned to you, as soon as she has served the sentence I shall impose upon her for endangering the Masquerade within my city."

"You are most generous Sire."

With that the man signed off.

"Paul, what did you promise him?"

The Dead One sounded curious, and wary.

"The fuck do you care, Sire? I promised him what he wanted and proved that I could get it, this shit is done now, and I'm going to sleep."

"See that you do not keep secrets from me Paul, I am your Sire, I am your Prince, and I will not be balked."

"Perhaps this discussion is better left to a time when the sun is not in the sky." The Kennel Master chimed in, "What is to become of her?"

The Assamite had long since succumbed to sleep, her body slack once again as she slumped gracelessly against the stone wall of her cell.

"I will see to it that Amos stakes her and loads her into a crate, she will be sent to an old acquaintance of mine from Eastern Europe. Let us see what the Tzimisce make of her for the next three hundred years or so."

With that they all turned and left Ashur to the quiet peaceful loneliness of his cell. Ashur was asleep again before the men came in to carry out The Prince's orders, asleep and dreaming of the wild, of his pack mates as they traversed the long miles in search of their lost brother, and of the great black wolf who Ashur was sure would find his now long cold trail and follow it all the way to the home of the dead to rescue him.


	10. Blame it on the Gold Rush

Blame it on the Gold Rush

Alexandra was too distracted by the time she got home to notice the lack of the familiar click which indicated the unlocking of her front door when she turned her key in the lock. She pushed into the small studio apartment, throwing her purse in one direction, her keys in the other, and doing an excited pirouette. The first shock of horror she had felt when she realized that Frank was attempting a proposal had vanished in the excitement of the knowledge that Frank had been attempting a proposal. The reality of her situation, of the Traditions, the Masquerade, and all that this entailed paled in importance to the fireworks display that the night's event had set off in her brain. Her world had shrunk, her mind played over and over the slight nervous tremor his otherwise stoic bass voice, the freeze frame of his warm caramel colored eyes as they searched hers for an indication of how she would answer his question.

Alexandra switched on the light in her small kitchen before pulling a half full glass bottle from the refrigerator. She then pulled a saucepan from a cupboard and filled it to the midline with water before setting it on the stove to heat. After a couple of minutes she set the bottle in the water to bring its contents to her preferred temperature of 98 degrees. This task accomplished Alexandra moved to the small area she had set up as her bedroom. The windows that lined the wall, commanding a fantastic panorama of the city below were coated in seven layers of black paint. She had done this with the delicate French doors that opened onto her balcony as well. Humming to herself Alexandra shed the lovely red dress she had worn that night leaving her clothed in a few small strips of black lace. On a sudden impulse to she herself as Frank saw her she moved to the ornate full length mirror she kept against one wall and began examining herself.

How old was she? Near enough to two hundred to round up. Still the face that looked back at her from the mirror was not a day older than twenty five. Frozen in time, there was no record of her long life in the folds and wrinkles that were not there. So much had happened to her she thought that some of it ought to be reflected in her face, battle scars and all, but no. She ran a hand over her porcelain features, feeling the cheat in them, the lie of them. Her hand moved down the length of her body, over the skin of her neck, breasts; she paused as her fingers brushed the taut skin of her stomach feeling the faded remnants of stretch marks. These were her battle scars; these reminded her of her old life, and what she had sacrificed to become Kindred.

"You are beautiful." Came a familiar voice from behind her.

Alexandra did not jump, though this voice brought back all of the fear that her excitement had washed away. She moved slightly so that the mirror reflected both herself and the figure of her Sire, Lily, reclining with the sensual grace of a Greek goddess on Alexandra's couch.

"Not as beautiful as you." Alexandra replied, truthfully. It was only in the presence of her Sire that Alexandra felt like the scared, unsure twenty something that looked out of the mirror at her. Alexandra watched as Lily shrugged then rose from the couch and walked over to her. Lily slid her arms around her Childe covering the stretch marks with her slender forearms. Alexandra allowed her head to fall back onto Lily's shoulder. Alexandra took no notice of what she wore, Lily had seen her at every stage of dress and undress in their long acquaintance, there was no one in the world that Alexandra knew better, nor any that she hated more.

"Much more beautiful than when you were alive."

They stood in front of the mirror each a vision of loveliness, Alexandra light an golden, Lily dark as the night, but outshining Alexandra's golden beauty as though it was a will o' the wisp light burning through fog.

"You know I had planned to be very upset with you tonight."

"Why?" Alexandra's voice was shocked and hurt.

"We were supposed to meet to discuss you show tonight."

"That's tomorrow; remember I was seeing Frank tonight. Besides weren't you called to Conclave?"

"I was, but that doesn't matter, I told you to cancel with your cop." Lily's voice, so soft before while she was praising Alexandra's beauty now became hard and vaguely dangerous.

"Lily," Alexandra tried to reply, but the words got stuck on her tongue making it feel to large for her mouth and forcing her back into silence.

"Two years is too long."

"And a hundred would be too short."

A gasp of consternation escaped Lily, "Stop being dramatic, your continued relationship with him endangers the Masquerade."

"I'm blind without him, all of the work that you have so loved recently, all of the shows you hope to capitalize on in the future, these don't exist without him."

"Don't be ridiculous, you'll find someone else. You always do." Lily spat with venom.

Alexandra wriggled free of her Sire's embrace.

"That was low. I cannot help it that the art that I make is inspired by my closeness to humans, I cannot help it that being dead makes me blind," Alexandra was shouting her voice rising in pitch and stridency as she flung the accusations and resentments that had festered within her these two hundred years at her icily unmoved Sire. It was not the first time they had had this fight.

She had been born a Virginia girl, daughter of a coal miner with ambition. When she was ten her father had taken the whole family, Alexandra, her three brothers, and her baby sister to Boston to meet with a representative from Massachusetts about issues Alexandra was too young either to comprehend or care about. What did a ten year old girl who kept burning her fingers on hot coal as she stole it from the hearth to draw pictures on the walls care about northern aggression, or states' rights?

What she did care about was a series of paintings that hung on the walls of the Bostonian diplomat's home. One in particular, painted in what she later learned was the Baroque era by a painter called Rubens held her in thrall for days. The meeting ended badly, Alexandra remembered vividly even now her father erupting from the diplomat's drawing room in a fury crying out that his obstinacy would lead the country down the garden path to war. He had stormed down the hallway and grasping Alexandra by her arm proceeded to drag her from the hall of paintings. When the family had gotten home her father had spent three days in front of the fire puffing away at his pipe and looking darkly around at any who dared disturb him. Alexandra barely noticed, she had been given forty cents in pocket money for her eleventh birthday and had promptly gone to the only store in town and ordered supplies. By the time her father had smoked the last of his tobacco she had managed to teach herself the rudiments of perspective, shading, and composition.

Her father emerged from his contemplation and announced that they would be abandoning their beloved southland for the greener pastures of the west, far beyond were the smoke of war would obscure the sky, to California. Her father was going to become a gold miner. Little of the horrible journey to their new home remained in Alexandra's memory in the years to come save the burial of little Katherine who had succumbed to a fever and persistent cough while passing through Missouri. They arrived in San Francisco before it had blossomed into the full fledged city it would become, and two years before California became a state. Most people fleeing the brewing conflict in the east in hopes of a fruitful search for gold remained as beleaguered and penniless after years of toil as they were when they arrived. Not her father though, he was a man of prodigious luck and great effort. These two factors combined to make him a rich man. When Alexandra was seventeen her father arranged for her to have a private tutor in painting, he thought that it would improve her desirability to the local gentry if she acquired some accomplishments. In this one instance did his choosing go very ill indeed.

Her tutor's name was Jack Capron, and to her he was a marvel. His grandfather had been an Englishman who had come over to support the American's in their attempt to throw off the tyranny of England, but when the new government of the continent had been formed he had abandoned it too and set out into the wilderness. His father had continued where his grandfather had left off, and he had finished their journey by running into the coast of California. He had considered escaping civilization by taking a boat to the Orient but he had heard that they were terribly civilized too. Jack made adventure seem so romantic; she had clearly put the vagaries of her travels from the east out of her mind. When they eloped only her father was surprised.

They moved to Sacramento and Jack set up shop doing portraits for Sacramento's wealthiest. Unfortunately, as an artist, he wasn't especially good, and as a husband he was much worse. The passionate romanticism which had thrilled her was soon revealed to be wanton and irresponsible profligacy. When they had money Jack spent, when they didn't Jack spent. When their creditors got too insistent Jack would occasionally sell one of her paintings as his own. These always brought a high price, both for the buyer who paid in gold and for Alexandra who paid in black and blue. Shortly after the birth of Jack Junior, the third of their children, one buyer in particular had taken an interest in Jack's ne Alexandra's work.

She had come in the night, and toured their home, arm locked in arm with Jack while her husband trailed behind silently with Alexandra, baby in arm. Her name had been Rose then, and Alexandra had been stunned by her dark beauty, here was living art, more powerful and tangible than anything Alexandra had managed to commit to canvas. The beautiful woman squinted her perfect eyes at the paintings in the dark attic, yet refusing a candle to help her see more clearly, declared each one to be a masterpiece, and that she must have them all. Alexandra did not notice how the woman's fingers stroked the fingers of her husband's hand, nor how she had pressed herself to him, as though frightened of the dark while they made their way down the stairs and back into the living room, all she noticed was that the elegant person standing before her loved her work. It was the first night that one of her paintings had sold that Jack had not flown into a rage; he was light as air and seemed not to notice Alexandra's presence. The next night the money had come in, so Jack had gone out. It was late, and the children were asleep when a soft knock came at the front door.

Alexandra opened the door, and she was there Rose in all of her dark splendor. Alexandra had stammered a greeting, telling Rose that Jack was not in. Rose had told Alexandra that she was aware that Jack was away, and that she had wished to speak to the artist who had painted the works she had so recently purchased. Then to Alexandra's amazement Rose summoned a porter who hauled an artist's treasure trove into her house. Water colors, oils, acrylics, sculpting clay. That night Rose had bade Alexandra work as she watched. The night after that Jack had gone out again, and Rose had come again, Alexandra did no painting that night.

Rose offered immortality, an eternity with her, a million lifetimes in which to perfect Alexandra's greatest passion and to pursue without limitation the art that was her life. When the gleaming white teeth first sank into her throat she did not think of the family she left behind. Spared not a moment on Alice, Emily or little Jackie, and as the world went dark she accepted blood that gave her second life. Only something had gone wrong, light had not come back to the world when she woke, wracked by the hunger of new birth. Her hand still commanded great skill, but her mind was blank. In the end she had lost it all, her children, her life, and her art, and soon she had lost Rose, now styling herself Lavender.

Alexandra had sought solace in the hunt, for no vampire can feel sadness when that first spurt of red rich life begins to course through their veins. Soon she found that closeness to humans allowed small flickers of inspiration to dance through her mind once again. The paintings she produced were nothing like those that had moved Lavender to offer her the Embrace, but they eased the pain of the hell that had her mind had become. With each new lover a different flavor arose in her work, sometimes Lavender would notice her, most of the time not. Not until Frank, not until the darkness lifted.

Now Lavender was Lily, and Alexandra was fighting for her sanity.

"Is it your intention to seek permission to Embrace him?" Lily's question was matter of fact.

"God no! To make him Kindred would mean losing him as surely as-"

Lily cut her off.

"As surely as having the Prince condemn him because you breached the Masquerade."

"I lose him and the Beast wins. Can't you just forget about us, focus on that ridiculous rock star you have been promoting so heavily and let us be?"

"Zane will be a god of the stage."

"If your ministrations don't rob him of his voice, or will you not give him a choice?"

"He will get the same offer you did."

"Yeah," Alexandra laughed, "the same one Faust got, your soul for everything you ever wanted."

"Alexandra," Lily's voice had become strained with rage, her lilac eyes, usually smoky had taken on a reddish tint, "are you calling me the Devil?"

Alexandra felt defiant, in this moment she was powerful, but words failed and she sunk into sullen silence, her eyes fell to the floor unable to meet Lily's.

"He loves me."

"If you truly loved him you would have already left him. If he is the kind of human with the potential for true greatness you do him a disservice holding him back. He loves you, and so do you. It's what you have in common. You will not Embrace him; I doubt the Prince would give you permission anyway. You will not leave him, though it would be kinder. Your only other option is to ghoul him, so that a breach of the Masquerade is no longer an issue."

"I don't want him altered."

"You don't have that kind of choice, Kindred, Ghoul, or dead. These are your options; you have until sunset tomorrow to make your decision. Alexandra I am Primogen, would you have me with until the Prince determines it has been too long? His fucking Childe is your cop's partner! Do you want me to wait until he calls for your blood, and mine? I am responsible for what my clan does, and I will not feel the sun's Kiss because you have codependency issues!"

Two great red tears fell from Alexandra's eyes, "I will go tomorrow night and offer him my blood, bound is better than lost," her voice was barely a whisper, "diminished sight is better than blind, undead is better than truly dead."

Lily again moved to Alexandra, taking the defeated woman in her arms, Lily could be gracious in victory. Alexandra felt the sharp push of Lily's fingernail under her chin, urging her face upward. Alexandra met Lily's eyes which were again their usual smoky lilac color. Lily bent forward and kissed away the tears rolling down Alexandra's cheeks, Alexandra closed her eyes as Lily's lips met hers, and it took all the strength she had left to fight the urge to bite her Sire.

**Author's note: Feedback request, do you find the inclusion of this much back story to be beneficial or tedious?**


	11. Down the Rabbit Hole

**AN: Apologies for the long delay in this post I have been battling that bitch Writer's Block. Hope you enjoy, this one was particularly difficult since I have never considered Sunny to be a character of particular interest. In the feedback I have received however he seems to be a bit of a focus so here goes, a chapter from Sunny's POV. If you like it please review, hell if you don't like it please review.**

Down the Rabbit Hole

Stalking was natural to Paul Lawson. As he moved through the throng of people that swarmed around him, his eyes moved ceaselessly spotting opportunities to strike. He liked that the gazelles didn't perceive the cheetah in their midst. It was full dark though the stars above were few and insubstantial, obscured by the haze of light pollution that perpetually clouded sky of the city that surrounded him. He walked in the harsh light of the street lamps that illuminated the urban setting instead of keeping to the ubiquitous shadows. Paul had always made people uncomfortable; he suspected that on some level he made them understand that the veneer of urban civility could be swept away by one swipe of his hand, and that they would see again that the jungle had never been conquered; only dressed up in concrete. He saw this in their eyes when they looked at him, because they knew that they were still naked apes while he was a jungle cat crouched and ready to pounce on them.

Paul knew some Kindred who kept herds of Kine like tamed cattle, from which they fed. The idea nauseated him, like that pathetic thing that his fucking Sire kept chained in the basement. It did not bother Paul that the Prince keeping the werewolf as a prisoner violated the treaty of NOD and could mean war, bring it the fuck on was his thought on the matter. The only respect he had ever managed to feel toward his fucking Sire was that he used to go outside the city, into the territory of his prey and hunt them down in a fair contest. Now, the dumb fuck couldn't be bothered to be the predator that his nature and appetites made him, this was not a problem that Paul could even fathom. Keeping that dog in the cellar would cost the fucker the throne, Paul was sure, this thought spread a warm and fuzzy feeling through his black heart. Serves the bastard right, Paul reached up and pulled at the air around his throat as though the collar he felt were a physical thing. When Kindred are first introduced into the society of the undead their Sire's hold absolute power over their Childes' lives, and bore ultimate responsibility for the Childes' actions. When the Childe proved that they were capable of being productive members of Kindred society and maintaining the Masquerade, their Sire would petition the Prince of the city who would release their Sire from the responsibility of the Childe's actions, and the Childe would then assume their place in the social structure of the city. Until this happens the Childe has no status, either legal or social, in Kindred society, their life is ruled utterly by the whim of their Sire, who can end that life with total impunity. Paul ought to have been released nearly a decade ago, and yet the fucking, dog sucking, bitch refused to set him free.

"Hey watch where you're going, asshole!"

One of the herd of Kine shouted at him from the ground, Paul had walked straight through the guy knocking him down in his pulsing anger at the thoughts of his Sire. Paul thought of answering the insult, but he had an appointment tonight and he did not wish to embroil himself in a police investigation right now, IA still hadn't totally written him off for last time. So he simply shot a glare in the man's direction and kept moving. He checked with Caleb, his appointment, and received a dismissive, irritated reply. No wonder Paul was spoiling for a fight. No one, including Caleb had ever been able to explain the rapport that they shared. There was no time that Paul could remember when his mind had not been shared by the vastly older Kindred. Paul had known Caleb, presumably since birth, possibly before that, but his memory didn't stretch back that far, and Caleb had never seen fit to elaborate on Paul's earliest years. They had finally met in person when Paul was twelve, it was at his birthday party, Paul had been chasing fireflies with his brothers and sisters while his mother and father watched from the back porch of the family home. This was the first time that Paul realized that there was a discrepancy in the level of control each of them had over this "gift" as he had not realized that Caleb was near, no thought or feeling had betrayed the man's presence. There was a large field behind their house and this field was hedged on three sides by a dense oak forest. Paul, unafraid of the dark had followed one of the tiny luminescent beasties a few feet into the thick underbrush. His siblings all stayed out of the woods at night, the dark frightened them, for that matter Paul frightened them. The branches of the canopy of leaves above were so tightly intertwined that no light from moon or stars reached the forest floor. The young Paul had just managed to clasp the small insect in his hands when the figure appeared from behind the trunk of a nearby tree. The man was not tall, but he was broad, his blonde hair looked black in the darkness, but the ice blue of his eyes seemed to shine even in the surrounding gloom, instantly Paul recognized Caleb, the companion of his mind, and released the bug. Caleb thought instructions to the boy to be silent and follow, this Paul did without hesitation.

That was the last he ever saw of his home, or his family, and though he knew that they searched for him he was quite sure that in their hearts all of them were relived to believe that he had been lost in the forest that night. Caleb had of course not changed much in the intervening years, but Paul had, he had grown from a gangly but graceful child into the powerhouse he was now. He was reared by Caleb and on Caleb's blood. Yet when the time came for Paul to be Embraced into the world of the Kindred Caleb had farmed out the task to the Prince of this city. Caleb gave no explanation, and though he knew every thought and feeling that passed through Paul, Paul had no such advantage over the Elder Kindred. In the years that Paul had lived with Caleb they had travelled extensively, Caleb always on the hunt, not for his next meal, but for information. Another area of Caleb's life about which Paul knew next to nothing was the subject of his research. He knew only that it pertained to a prophecy that spoke of a Vampiric redeemer, though because of their curious relationship he had never managed to sneak so much as a peek without Caleb's knowledge. Now Paul was stuck as a neonate bitch to the fucking Prince and played errand boy both for his Sire and for his adopted father.

"When?"

"Soon," was the still petulant reply.

Paul suppressed a growl and decided to kill some time seeing to a task set him by the other of his two masters so he turned his feet toward a local Kindred owned dive called Aces High. The pool hall and bar was located in the basement level of a dance club that was trying, and failing, to compete with the Toreador Primogen's new club, but it was not attached to that business, nor did it attract the same fashionable clientele. Paul made his way through the many pool tables; the walls were lined with dart boards, the patron's opinion of the place and each other had been written, and sometimes carved into any space that was not used for drinking or gambling. The light was dim and the only real illumination came from the harsh glow of fluorescent lights advertising the various beers the house offered. Paul sat down on the bar stool farthest from the pool tables and as far from the tacky glare of the neon lights as he could manage. It did not take him long to spot the owner of the place, a Brujah by the name of James Hauk, Taliesin to his friends.

Taliesin looked up from the rigged poker game in which he was involved and locked eyes momentarily with the Prince's Enforcer. All poker games in which the man was involved were rigged, by him. Paul watched amused as the Brujah abandoned his game as rapidly as politeness allowed and after accepting condolences for his losses take his leave of the rag tag band of miscreants with whom he was playing and make his way over to where Paul sat.

"Good evening, sir," Paul marveled at how genuine the man's smile seemed, and how many teeth he seemed to have. Hauk was lithe his body was slim with muscles like whipcords, his form appeared always at ease, he had high, prominent cheekbones, a sharp angular jaw and long aquiline nose. His eyes were a deep muddy green and his russet hair was wavy and untamed and spilled over brow into his eyes. Taliesin leaned on the bar, his manner genial, he welcomed with equal alacrity Kindred and Kine, so long as they were spending, and not making trouble.

"Hey."

"Here for business or pleasure?"

"Business."

"What service may I offer our honored monarch?"

Paul held himself in check, "You can cut the shit."

"Will do, what can I do for you?"

"I am looking in to the recent murder of Stevie Ray; there is a lot of bad blood between you Brujah and the Gangrel in this city."

"Whoa, what do you mean "we" white man," Paul raised an eyebrow, "I was here before Eddie Fiori took over as Brujah boss, he then chased as many of us old timers out as he could and Embraced a whole new crop of snot nosed ass kissing piss ants, very much like himself. The upshot to being one of the survivors of his takeover is that I am left entirely out of the loop."

"If you hear anything that might be important will you pass it along to me?"

"Probably not, I don't gain by crossing Fiori; if the Prince was smart he'd kill the son of a bitch. Since I can be of no help, if there is nothing I can get for you, I think I will head back to that game and recoup some of my losses."

"This is a bar right?"

"Then I want a fuckin' drink."

Paul let his eyes wander from the attentive face of his host and cast them about the bar finally focusing on a patron of the rode-hard-and-put-away-wet variety.

"She looks like she might put up a descent fight."

Taliesin's eyes narrowed, "you are out of Ventru feeding grounds, I have a wide variety of beers but all other taps here are dry."

Paul was seriously contemplating what pretty boy here would look like with a concave face when he felt that pull in his skull that let him know that Caleb was ready for him. Paul pushed himself up from the stool, bumping into Taliesin with enough force to knock the Brujah a little off balance, then pushed past and made his way out of the bar.

Abel's Antique Book Emporium was a shitty hole-in-the-wall storefront in a mostly deserted strip mall on the other side of town. Paul let himself in with his key, the smell of moldy books and dust filled the air. The last time a customer had managed to make a purchase bell bottoms were still the height of fashion. Paul made his way past the numerous rows of dusty shelves all lined with musty books. At the back of the store was a small office with a desk, a safe, and a calendar at least a decade old. The only thing in the building which was not covered in a quarter inch layer of dust was a hideous oblong rug on the floor of the office. This Paul kicked aside and pulled up a large square of false floor revealing a large metal door, not unlike the one found in the Prince's cellar. Paul crouched and grabbed the handle, then twisted until he heard the clunk and hiss of the bolt rolling back and the rush of air into the chamber below. He heaved the giant door out of the way and descended the ladder into a well lit white walled room. The place felt like a hospital, and smelled a little like it too. There was a small living space which was predominantly taken up by a massive desk, piled high with neat stacks of paper; one wall had a massive map of ancient make behind glass. Paul had spent his youth tracing the lines of that map with his fingers over the glass, now most of it was covered in large arrows pointing to various locations with tiny neat handwriting scribbled below them. The rest of the space, which was walled off in airtight, bullet proof plastic was a series of shelves as meticulously tended as the ones above were neglected. The books, and manuscripts that lined these shelves had never seen a speck of dust, their voluminous pages had been leafed through many times over the centuries, always carefully by a gloved hand, and never once by Paul.

Caleb emerged from behind one of the shelves, he folded the foot stool he had been using neatly and hung it on a rack on the wall, then took the white gloves from his hands and threw them onto a table in the center of the room which was covered in papers, books and maps before finally exiting the room and meeting Paul who had taken a seat at the desk.

"Git," Caleb said, Paul stood and Caleb took his place, "here for your pound of flesh?"

"Pint of blood."

Caleb shrugged and after reclining in his desk chair extended his arm to Paul, who rolled up Caleb's sleeve. Paul took a needle, small bit of tubing, and a clear plastic pint bag, connected them and slid the needle into one of the veins and waited. After a moment of concentration, in which Caleb willed his heart to beat, blood began running through the tube into the bag.

"You seemed frustrated today,"

"So I was."

"I could help with your research."

"You do help Paul, you are my eyes outside these walls, you keep track of my enemies and you prevent any untoward attention being paid to my Haven. You even bring me sustenance so that I need not take time away from my work."

Paul recalled the last morsel he had brought here, Caleb had thanked him and they had shared the meal. He wanted to argue, but he knew it was futile, and so silence fell in the room again and held until the bag was filled. Paul removed the needle and put the bag in to a cooler.

"I'll get this sent off tomorrow morning. I still don't get why you are agreeing to this."

"I am so close to completing my research that any disruption in the city might cause a delay that I cannot afford, there is not much the assassin can do with a meager pint of my blood."

"My fucking Sire still has no idea who you are does he?"

"He knows that I could sit on the council of Primogen if I wished to push my rights."

"Ahh, but for which clan?"

"As long as he is content to have me remain a nonentity in city politics I am content to oblige him. Happy hunting to you."

"As though there is any other kind. Do you need anything?" Paul asked as he began to climb the ladder.

"You might mention to Daedalus the next time you see him that he has not missed a piece of the puzzle, that he is putting together the wrong puzzle entirely."

Paul nodded, uncomprehendingly and left Caleb's Haven wondering why there were a series of pictures on the man's desk of unknown Kine, and why his partner Frank had been featured in one of them. The only answer to this unvoiced question was a cryptic chuckle from a mind not his own.


	12. The Black Knight and Lady Fair

The Black Knight and Lady Fair

Sasha woke in the dark. She stretched out a hand looking for the switch to turn on a bedside lamp that wasn't there. It was then that she realized that she was in a bed that wasn't hers, and that she was very sore. She put the hand out again and searched a little further until she found an unfamiliar switch, she pushed it. The light burned her eyes, and when she brought her hand up to shade them she saw that the hand had been bandaged. As soon as her eyes adjusted she looked around at a very unfamiliar setting. Sasha tried to remember how she had gotten here hoping that it might give her a clue as to where here was. She remembered a flight, that creepy woman with the dark hair had stared at her the entire trip. She remembered getting off the plane; there were two men, who met her there, the scary one with the permanent scowl, and the cute one who's father had been killed the same-

She broke off this line of thought as she found it necessary to concentrate very hard on getting her breath back. When the world became a solid thing again she wiped her eyes and looked around. The room was sparsely furnished with a bed side table, wardrobe, dresser and desk, all of simple design wrought in a dark wood. The walls were white and bare, the lamp at her bedside was white, as were her bed linens, in fact there were only two hints of color in the entire room. Three bright red flowers that sat in a white vase on the desk and heavy red velvet drapes which hung at the far end of the room, which were drawn against the outside world at the moment. The overall impression was of a stark, almost Spartan austerity for which the owner had doubtless paid through the nose to achieve. Despite the plentiful open space in the room Sasha felt stifled, she rose quickly, pain making her more than usually aware of her ribs. How the hell had she bruised herself up so badly? Her palms under the bandages were shredded and they itched badly. She crossed the room her bare feet making no noise on the plush white rug that sat atop the dark wooden floor. Reaching the drapes she threw them aside and pushed open the window allowing the cool breeze which came off the coast to fill her lungs and steady her nerves. In the distance she saw the wide curve of the bay and the city as a mass of glittering fairy lights. _So this is New Haven_, she thought, _it is beautiful_. Directly below her window was a courtyard which featured a large three tiered fountain. The water in the fountain seemed to glow as it splashed merrily into a large pool which was lit so that the water in it was a light sky blue. Wispy white clouds had been painted on the bottom of the pool so that looking down one was given the impression that a small piece of the daylight sky had fallen from the heavens and made its new home under the shimmering waters of the pool.

_A light in the darkness_, Sasha stared down feeling a sense of hope and warmth wash over her. She had felt on the verge of hysteria ever since her family had been killed, but she knew that if she went over that edge that there would be no coming back. Her mind held no reference for making sense of a world in which her mother, father, and brothers didn't exist. She had been particularly close to the twins; this thought threatened to send her into another fit of weeping, so instead she pushed the thought from her mind. Sasha breathed deeply again forcing herself back into the semblance of tranquility before forcing herself back into the room, though she did not close the window. Her suitcases had been placed on one of those baggage racks that are usually found in hotel rooms. She rummaged for clothes then proceeded into the bathroom to shower. Emerging clean and dressed a short while later she felt more like herself. She checked her watch which she found on the white marble counter in her bathroom, she had slept an entire day away, no wonder she was so hungry. This place had to have a kitchen; tentatively she put her hand on the doorknob, hesitating slightly before turning it, pushing the door open and stepping into the corridor. Expensive austerity seemed to be a theme in this house. All of the doors that lined the passageway were closed as she made her way down the hall. She came to a halt outside a massive set of double doors when she heard a voice she recognized. To her right was an ornate staircase which lead to the lower level of the house, the kitchen would be down there, but she hung around and listened to the argument taking place within the room beyond the doors.

"God damn it, won't you at least listen to me?"

It was the voice of the cute one who had been so kind to her when she got off the plane, his voice which had been so gentle when he was playing the gallant last night, was hard and angry now. He was answered by a cool impassive voice, devoid of emotion, without inflection, but somehow compelling.

"Fiori had nothing to do with your Sire's death."

"Did the Assamite tell you that?"

"No, our conversation was necessarily brief, this is simple deduction. The Assamite attacked my family to draw me out of the city, and killed my body guard to make me more vulnerable. Eddie Fiori has neither the means nor the power to contract with an Assamite, therefore Eddie is not responsible for the attacks."

"That is a ridiculous supposition! Stevie Ray might not have been killed by an Assamite, Eddie could be working with someone who is powerful enough to hire an Assamite. His Sire is the fucking Prince of LA isn't he?"

"Ca$h you are trying my patience," for the first time Sasha heard an edge to the other voice, its icy chill sent a shiver down her spine, she felt suddenly unsafe.

"You hired me to keep you safe and you are ignoring my attempts to do so, Fiori wants your city!"

"Of course he wants my city, many people Kindred and Kine alike, both within and without this city would like to unseat me."

"You don't happen to mean that the dog that you keep in the-"

"Enough," the voice that answered was like a blade being drawn from a sheath, "this is a subject on which we will not speak. I called you here to tell you that you will be taking up the protection of my niece while she remains in the city. That is all, you are dismissed."

"But-"

"You are dismissed."

"Yes Sire," Ca$h's voice was still defiant.

Most of the conversation was beyond Sasha, but she thought she had heard her Uncle say that he had spoken to the assassin responsible for the death of her family. It was like a bomb went off in her head, a rushing whirring sensation of vertigo. It took all of her willpower not to rush headlong into the room beyond to find out who had murdered everyone she had loved and to learn what the bastard's fate had been. Through a great exercise of willpower she was able to stay the advance of her feet, besides her Uncle's tone scared her. When the conversation broke off so abruptly Sasha barely had time to run down the corridor a little before turning around so that she could pretend that she was just arriving outside the door when it flew open. She was genuinely startled by the force with which it had been thrown open that she squeaked in surprise as Ca$h, scowling and dark eyed, stomped into the corridor. When he caught sight of her the strained look that had been wearing softened, a hesitant smile brightened his face.

"Sorry I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay, I was just on the hunt for the kitchen, do you know where it is?"

"Yeah, it's down the stairs to your right, can't miss it."

"Thanks," a sudden awkward silence grew up between them before Sasha broke it, "hey I just wanted to thank you for being so kind to me last night, I have been really messed up and it meant a lot to me."

"It was my pleasure, anytime you need anything just let me know, I have been put on your security detail permanently so need anything, I'm your man."

Another awkward silence, this time Ca$h was the first to speak, "I have to go, work to do."

"Yeah that armor won't polish itself."

"Ah, I have squires for that I have to go defend a bridge against all comers."

With that Ca$h performed a slight bow before starting down the stairs. After a few moments wrestling with the opposing desires to rush into the room and interrogate her Uncle, and the wish to remain unseen by the owner of that awful voice, she let hunger decided the issue and proceeded down the stairs to hunt down a descent meal.


	13. Things That go Bump in the Night

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Frank mourned the decline of newspapers that had accompanied the rise of the internet, but he had been compelled to utilize this new medium after the fourth time he had been blindsided by a news report he had read about twenty four hours too late. Now he swore passionately at his phone as it failed to sign on to the internet. It occurred to him in a moment of clarity that it did not matter what type of bat it had been, that the central issue was that the man had turned into a bat. The rational moment passed and he again focused on the principal of the thing. Sure his phone was the modern technological equivalent of two cans strung together with a string that was pulled tight, but he did pay for freaking internet access god damnit!

Frank was standing shakily in the alleyway behind the former apartment of Steven Ray Guilford. Or was it the apartment of the former Steven Ray Guilford? That rational portion of his mind chimed in with the verdict of irrelevant on this line of thinking. In one hand he clutched his pathetic joke of a telephone in the other a plastic grocery bag containing one neatly folded Armani suit, one Rolex watch, not a knock off, two highly polished black dress shoes size eleven, a pair of black socks, a white silk shirt, a tie that cost more than he made in three months, and a pair of white and red striped silk boxers. A shadow flitted across the light of the street lamp that craned high over Frank's head, this drew Frank's eye and brought him out of his unproductive reverie. Frank gave up on his useless, if satisfyingly frustrating task and began to move toward the side walk. Feeling ridiculous he made his feet proceed at a nice even pace, a jaunty kind of unconcerned lope, until the bat dive bombed him. It may have been a different bat, it may have only been swooping low to sweep some small flying insect into its mouth, it did not matter to Frank, and he took flight and made it to the crowded street three fluttering heartbeats later. Out in the open he felt better, but not much. He went over to his car, wrenched open the driver's side door, pitched the plastic bag into the back and settled himself into his seat closing the door and locking it. Now that he was out of the alleyway his phone showed bars, he wiped clammy seat from his brow and dialed his voicemail, he had two messages, one from Sunny asking Frank where the hell he was the other from Alexandra asking him to come over as soon as he got her message. No brainer he thought as he pulled out on to the road and headed to Alexandra's place.

The moon was a Cheshire cat grin pale and yellow as it hung low over the city. Frank drove with a reckless disregard for speed limits and car manufacturers' recommendations for safety. Frank had first become interested in crime solving when he had read Sherlock Holmes as a child, he had thrilled to the exploits of the hyper rational genius to whom all mysteries were eventually laid bare. He had spent his life attempting to emulate this childhood hero, but tonight he had found a flaw in the advice of the gentleman from Baker Street. It is sometimes a mistake to exclude the impossible from your thoughts, after all a hundred years ago it would have been impossible to communicate your thoughts instantly over vast distances and now there were telephones. He ran through the night's events in his mind, he had been called to a crime scene, obvious B&E gone bad. He had signed his name to required forms and that was that. Afterwards he had proceeded to the address of record for Guilford; it was a small apartment on the third floor of a shabby building. An odd address for the head of security at the most notoriously successful real estate conglomerates in the state was the first thing that occurred to his mind. He had flashed his badge at the office manager, nice old codger who had mentioned what a nice boy Stevie was, and a quiet tenant too, while fishing a master key off a key ring that had to weigh forty pounds. Frank watched the old man with his high pants held by suspenders over a pot belly, the skin of his hands yellowed and wrinkled like paper, and wisps of white hair which still clung to his be speckled head, which were outnumbered by the ones that escaped the confines of his over large nostrils. Age had a strange beauty thought Frank, and he pictured himself aged as this man was with Alexandra, her flaxen beauty gone to gray, but in his mind her eyes still sparkled to look at him, involuntarily his hand slid into his coat pocket to grasp the velvet box which he now carried with him everywhere. Frank had resolved not to wait for the right moment, but merely to seize the next available moment that presented itself to him.

"Here you go my lad," said the old man handing a door key to Frank, who thanked the old man, before heading up the stairs to number 306. The building showed every sign of prolonged neglect, the wall paper was peeling off the walls, the air was musty, and the décor in the hallways had gone out of style thirty years ago, but it was clean. Frank fitted the key into the lock turned the handle and walked inside.

The first sight which struck him was an ass disappearing out a window. Frank had blinked, shaken his head and rushed forward drawing his gun. He reached the edge of the window just in time to not see the man to whom the ass belonged fall onto the pavement below. Instead as he looked down he saw a largish bat clasp the handles of a grocery bag and flap with all of its tiny might trying to lift the bag and its contents. Not thinking Frank had vaulted out of the window onto the fire escape and slid down on the ladder, the bat remained undisturbed still flapping its little heart out, when Frank made to sweep it away the thing let go of the bag and bit him. The little fucker even managed to draw a little blood, to which Frank responded by smacking the thing with his gun, it had flown away, but he was quite sure that it had not gone far.

A strange night to be sure, but as Frank made his way off the highway and onto the side streets a deeper sense of foreboding fell over him. He felt as one so low as in the bottom of a tomb. This feeling was deeper than the events of the night warranted, and he felt it's all encompassing nature. A pall of dread had descended on him as soon as he had decided to go to Alexandra's house and uncomfortable memories of odd events and long ignored non sequiturs began jostling at the edges of his conscious mind demanding examination. He was loathed to look at them and was spared the effort of doing so as he parked his car along the curb by Alexandra's apartment building. He jogged up the numerous flights of stairs hoping to work off some of the nervous energy which possessed him, finally reaching Alexandra's floor, sweaty, panting and no less nervous. He knocked, a little harder than he intended but was gratified when Alexandra opened the door almost instantly.

Her smile ought to have been a warm rush of relief to him, but even frazzled he could still see that it did not reach her eyes.

"Hello Frank," was her all-to-sober greeting.

"Hey Xandra, I got your message and rushed over. Everything alright?" His voice was calm, even, and steady.

Alexandra looked up at him, "Frank you look like you've seen a ghost."

"A ghost might make more sense," he started as she took his hand and led him to her sofa; he sank into its warm softness and explained what had happened while she poured him a rather large glass of whiskey. Frank was not a drinking man but the soothing burn of the amber liquid as it flowed down his throat and the careless lightheaded feeling that it left behind was a comfort. She had not seemed particularly surprised by his recount of the evening, but had grown concerned when he told her of the bat biting him.

"Well," she said, "that seems as good a place to start as any."

Frank was confused, but this had become such a natural state for him in the past couple of hours that his mind did not seek explanation. She poured him a second glass and looked at him.

"Frank, you know that question you were going to ask me the other night?"

"Oh, y-yeah," through the fog of confusion and whiskey Frank slid off the couch, groping in his pocket for the ring box. Alexandra grabbed hold of him and hauled him back onto the couch.

"Wha-"was his clever response.

"Frank, don't propose to me, I would have to say no, but listen and I will propose something to you that is in a similar vein."

Frank was crushed, it had never occurred to him that she might say no, "why-"

"Just listen to me," she said taking his punctured hand, she met his eyes and deliberately licked to two tiny puncture marks, the whole thing was so peculiar that Frank almost missed that the two small holes had closed completely, and without a trace. That rational part of his mind began to assert itself and some of the fog cleared.

"Xandra, what the hell is going on?" His voice was stern, he had never used that tone with her before, but his desire for clarity, for the mystery to be laid bare for him as it had been to Holmes spurred him from dull and witless to a sharp clarity.

"I will tell you Frank, but please remember that you love me and that no matter what you hear that I do love you."

Frank nodded, and sat back cradling the whiskey, wishing for insensibility, but unwilling to miss a word as they began to pour from Alexandra, blasting his world apart.

She told him that she had been born in Virginia before the gold rush, she told him of her father, of her husband, of her Embrace.

"Vampire, you are telling me she turned you into a vampire, Bella Lugosi, Bram Stoker, Nosferatu vampire?"

"Yes, she turned me into what you humans know as a vampire, though we call ourselves Kindred."

"Kindred and how many of your kin are around?" Frank had meant his tone to be mocking; but he wasn't feeling sufficiently superior to sell it.

"There are many Frank, we are all around you. Since the time of the Inquisition when we were hunted in earnest we havemaintained a tradition which we call the Masquerade, a smoke screen to keep the Kine- the humans- from realizing that we exist."

"Why?" Frank couldn't believe this, and yet she seemed so sincere.

"Why would the wolf appear as a sheep if he could? The answer is twofold, to make hunting the sheep easier and to avoid detection by the shepherds."

Frank licked his lips, they had gone dry, "Xandra, I am going to need than your word on this."

She nodded, and again took his hand and placed two fingers at the side of her throat where a gentle throb indicated the beating of her heart, with a growing horror he felt the pulse slow, then stop, the rosy cheeks, and peaches and cream complexion of the woman he loved vanished almost instantly, the gentle rise and fall of her breast ceased. He looked at her, pale as a corpse and yet she began to speak again.

"My heart needn't beat, I require no air, save for that which I used to speak."

"You have become so cold." He gasped.

"I am no longer using blood to keep up the appearance of life. This is nice for me, the less blood I use the less often I am compelled to refresh my stores."

"So the legends about vampires drinking blood are true?"

"Yes my poor darling it is true."

"Then you kill people?"

"Not always, though you must know the worst, I have killed many, and to stay alive I will kill many more if need be."

"Why are you telling me this? When does the wolf bare its teeth to the sheep?"

Alexandra looked hurt, "Frank you do not suspect that I brought you here to feed from you, do you?"

"Xandra I don't know what to think, I would like to think that you have gone mad, or that this is a dream, or that I have gone mad, anything but that there are vampires all around me drinking the blood of humans to stay alive forever- do you live forever?"

"Essentially yes, I never age and I have no natural terminus to my life, though I can be killed."

"How?"

Alexandra looked a little angry.

"For curiosity's sake." Frank added hastily realizing how that must have sounded to her.

"There are many, chiefest of them is sun exposure, which is what happened to poor Stevie Ray."

"Guilford was a vampire!"

"I am sorry I would have thought that you would have realized that."

"Xandra baby I am not in a thinking straight kind of mood so let's pretend that I am a dull child and explain things clearly and slowly for me."

"If it makes you feel any better, I am new to this type of explanation too, I have never told anyone about the Kindred before, it is totally forbidden, except in three circumstances." She said clearly drawing the conversation back to the intention behind this maddening exchange.

"Which are," Frank asked.

"The first is if the human being told is to be Embraced, that is to be made a vampire," Frank looked wary," that is not what is going to happen, Frank I would not for all the world have you turned, I will do everything in my power to prevent such a thing form ever happening." Frank sat back relieved, while immortality and limitless power may appeal to some people Frank was not one of them, and he was assuming the power, and its lack of limitations, right now he only had B movies and books to go off of.

"The second," Alexandra continued," is if the human is to die immediately after, and that is prohibited but cannot be proven, and I have already indicated my desire to have you remain alive."

"And the third circumstance is?"

"If the human is to be offered the Blood Bond," Frank stayed silent awaiting an explanation," the Blood Bond is a kind of marriage. You drink from my veins three times on three separate nights and you gain some measure of my power without any of the disadvantages of my condition. You remain free to walk under the bright sunlight, you can have children, and you are not Damned. You even gain a measure of immortality while my blood runs through your body"

"But?"

"Have you ever seen a heroin addict denied his fix?"

"Far too many times."

"The pangs he suffers are nothing compared to the anguish experienced by the Bound when denied theirs, you will become a slave to my blood. You will do anything to get it, and your love for me will become an unbounded desperate need for me. Understand that I have no desire to see you wracked so I will never deny you sustenance."

She had botched the sales pitch, "but I am to become a slave, why would anyone agree to this?"

"Because," she answered more coldly than he had ever heard her, "if you don't take this offer we pass into circumstance number two and I will be forced to kill you. Frank killing you is the same as killing myself, you do not know what I risk by making this offer."

"The for god's sake why make it at all?"

"Because if I don't they will kill you regardless. This is the rock, this is the hard place and this is me situated none too comfortably in the middle. My love I would have offered to flee the city with you but I am not permitted to leave it without the permission of my Prince."

Once again Frank was at a loss and told her so.

"The Prince of a city is the oldest, or the strongest, vampire in a city. By custom the Prince wields the power of the absolute monarchs of old over the Kindred of his city. He is final arbiter of disputes, and most importantly he says who can Embrace and who can't, who can enter the city and who can leave it. His word is law up to the city limits."

"If he rules as a king why call him prince?"

"The Prince holds a city as regent, in trust for the King of vampires, the Sire-father - of us all."

There was genuine wonder in her voice as she spoke, but there was cynicism too.

"Who is this first vampire?"

"Cain, son of Adam and Eve, brother to Able the Slain and Seth the replacement."

Frank's mind whirled.

"I don't want to go into the history of my kind at the moment, the morning is coming and I need an answer by sundown tomorrow or we are dead."

Franks was again in a daze he had so many questions so little to go on, and a terrible gut feeling that this was not the nightmare he wanted it to be. He found that he was standing, he looked at Alexandra whose face had again taken on her familiar complexion, he loved her face, but the sight of it now was not comforting.

"Xandra, my love, can I have until tomorrow to decide? I just need some time, I will come back tomorrow, before sundown, I promise. I just need to think."

Alexandra looked wary, but said, "you can have the whole day, but you have to be back before sunset or we are both dead," her eyes pleaded with him to stay, but that only drove him out faster. He left the apartment in a daze and sprinted down the stairs as quickly as he had run up them earlier, ran to his car and only just registered the busted rear window and that the grocery bag containing the suit was missing.

"Fuck it," he hissed and threw himself into the car, he began driving aimlessly, but long habit directed him to the station. He parked still in a haze and made his way through the throng of cops to his desk where he slumped heavily into his chair. He did not look up at the desk across from his until he heard a familiar voice say, "Where the fuck have you been? You look like shit."

Frank laughed a little, and met Sunny's gaze from across the two desks.

"I have had quite a night," he said, "hey Sunny, I can trust you right?"


	14. That Old Devil Moon

That Old Devil Moon

Alexandra lay dying. What was surprising was that she was not dead already. She watched with an odd sense of detachment as Daedalus lifted her body. She was pleased that her eyes were open; they allowed her to see the sky. The clouds were parting, but a light sprinkling of rain still fell. She felt the droplets fall onto her face and saw as the water around her ran red with her blood. The moon was a sharp crescent in the sky and she felt its light shining down on her, a reflection of the sun's bright glare that she would never see again.

She thought of Frank, his eyes, his smile, his body, his kindness.

_Don't fail me Lilly. In this one thing, please don't fail me._

The phone had rung less than an hour after Frank had left. Alexandra had spent every minute fighting the desire to dial his number, to call him back to her. A wave of anxiety swept over her when the sound of the phone cut into her thoughts, she leapt for the receiver, but was disappointed to hear the voice of her Sire on the other end.

"Lilly, I can barely hear you, why are you whispering?"

"Listen carefully," Lilly's voice remained low, "your cop talked. Lawson went right to his Sire, and the Prince has declared a Blood Hunt on you."

Alexandra tried to respond, but found that her voice had caught in her throat. A Blood Hunt was the ultimate death sentence. It made her the modern day equivalent of a Wolf's Head, she could be killed without consequence, she could be devoured, her blood and soul consumed and the perpetrator would be congratulated rather than condemned.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes."  
>"Damn it Alexandra, you have to run, now."<p>

Alexandra nodded her head in response, then remembered that Lilly couldn't see her.

"Where can I go?"

"I don't know but for God's sake don't tell me when you figure it out."

Most Kindred kept a kit to facilitate the sudden necessity to disappear, passports, cash, whole identities into which they could slip with little notice. Alexandra had never excelled in forward thinking and had nothing prepared.

"Talk to Taliesin, if he doesn't kill you he can help you get a new identity."

It was good advice, and Alexandra looked up at the clock, she could make it to the Brujah's bar before sunrise, if she hurried. Only one thought now delayed her.

"What is going to happen to Frank?"

"Not now Alexandra."

"Yes, now Lilly, what will happen to him?"

"I am to kill him."

Alexandra nearly dropped the phone, before she knew it she was shouting into the receiver.

"No Lilly, please you can't."

"I have to."

"Lilly I am begging you."  
>"Alexandra."<p>

"Look I am going to try, but we both know no one outruns a Blood Hunt. I am as good as dead already, please Lilly don't let him die because of me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Ghoul him, same as I was going to do, please. I am going to die, but I think that the torment of hell will be a little more endurable if I know that he will be spared."

Time ticked by with her only answer being silence from the other end of the line.

"Alexandra, I don't understand, but I will try. Now get the hell out of there."

"Thank you Lilly, thank you."

That having been settled Alexandra grabbed a small suitcase and began to throw some clothes and supplies into it. Not more than ten minutes had passed since she and her Sire had hung up, now she stood on the curb outside her apartment trying to figure how far she could get on the twenty dollars which was all the money she had to her name, as the Prince would surely have frozen her accounts by now. The rain fell hard on her shoulders, and soon her clothes clung uncomfortably. The sky above was thick with clouds, and that combined with the tall buildings that lined her street made her feel claustrophobic.

Could she get all the way to Taliesin's? No, but she had to get off the deserted streets, the public eye was her friend now. She needed to be seen by people.

_Where are all of the goddamned cabs_?

She kept alert glancing around constantly trying to spot the approach of a cab, and to ensure that none of the shadows that surrounded her were more substantial than they appeared. Another ten minutes passed, this was taking too long, and she had stayed in one place too long. Images of sitting ducks danced through her mind as she began to move. The direction she picked was random, but the speed at which she moved rivaled that of any but the most reckless cab drivers.

Invoking this power was expensive, and though she covered a great deal of ground she soon found herself growing hungry.

_Good_, she thought, _if I frenzy I can at least take a couple of them with me_.

Finally she reached a more populated area and slowed to a normal pace. She quickly became aware that she was being followed. She quickened her pace, but did not use the immense speed of which she was capable. It would do no good. At last she spotted a cab idling on a street corner. She rushed over pulled open the rear passenger door and slid in.

"Ace's High, corner of seventh and Vanburen."

The cab driver flipped on the meter without saying a word and took off. Alexandra was grateful the driver was not chatty, she had too much to sort out in her mind to be bothered by whatever inanities he might want to expound upon.

She fumbled in her case looking for her cell phone. Oddly she was not angry at Frank. Sure he had doomed her, but his actions had been so human, she could not find it in herself to hate him for it. When she finally found the phone she held it, fingering the keys anticipating the moment when she could call him. She had to convince him to accept Lilly's offer of the Blood Bond. Her mind was whirling with arguments she hoped would persuade him when the cab came to a halt.

Alexandra closed her eyes. Great red droplets welled up in in her eyes and began to cascade down her face. They had pulled into a deserted alley, and one quick jerk told her that the child proof locks had been engaged.

"You may have three minutes to speak to your lover," she recognized the voice; it belonged to the Nosferatu Primogen. There was a small sense of relief, Daedalus, would not revel in her suffering as some of the others would, also his opinion of Diablerie was well known, she would not be subjected to that horror.

She dialed the number; the phone rang half a dozen times before she heard Frank's voice say.

"You have reached the voicemail of detective Frank Cohnaic, I am unable to get to the phone, please leave your name, number and a brief message and I will get back to you as soon as possible."

She waited thinking that he would never get back to her, that he was lost to her forever.

Beep.

"Frank, it's me, by the time you get this message I will be gone. Please darling, Lilly will be in contact with you, agree to anything she asks. Please. There is very little that I have done in my life of which I am proud. Loving you and being loved by you may be the only thing I have ever done that meant anything at all, and to me it meant everything. I love you my darling, I love you, I love you, I love you-"

Beep.

Alexandra bit her bottom lip and nodded her head. The million other things she could have said raced through her mind, but there was no time left to regret. She steeled herself for what was to come and launched herself at the door which flew off its hinges as she darted into the night beyond.

The Nosferatu was on her instantly. She struck out with fist and teeth, but he was the stronger. In the moment where he seized her under the chin and tore upward she could have sworn, though it was difficult to tell in a face as disfigured as Daedalus', that she saw pity and regret looking back at her.

She would have screamed, but as her head came off her neck it became impossible. What was left of her flew several feet through the air before hitting the pavement, bouncing a couple of times and finally splashing into a puddle.

To her surprise she remained conscious, her eyes still saw, her mind still thought. She watched as the body that had been hers slumped to the ground, Daedalus silhouetted against the light of a streetlamp which cast its yellow glow on the street outside the alley. He walked over to the driver's side door of the cab and opened it. A few moments later a quiet clunk told her that he had popped the trunk.

She puzzled at her predicament. Decapitation was supposed to kill Kindred, and yet she was not dead. She lost interest in whatever Daedalus was doing, it was irrelevant now. She thought about Frank, and the time that they had spent together. She thought about the years that stretched behind her. She thought, for the first time in longer than she could remember, about her children. She hoped they had lived good lives. Then as the blood drained from her and the world began to fade from sight, just for good measure she thought again of Frank, and it was with his image in her head and the moon in her eyes that death finally claimed her.


End file.
